The Duties of an Austrian Maid
by Hazel-Beka
Summary: Roderich makes the bad decision of going out drinking with Gilbert, Arthur and co. He makes another bad decision when he accepts Gilbert's challenge of a drinking competition. If he loses? Well Gilbert did once say that he wanted Roderich to be his maid..
1. Prologue

**The Duties of an Austrian Maid**

**But first, a brief history lesson!**

'_After German reunification in 1990, a plan was developed to merge the States of Berlin and Brandenburg. Though some suggested calling the proposed new state "Prussia"...'–_ Wikipedia. This fic takes place in 1990 during the time when Prussia was a proposed name for this new state (which in 1996 was voted not be created anyway). I'm sure Gilbert was devastated when he realised that Ludwig wasn't stupid enough to name any of his territory after Prussia. He probably sulked for weeks.

***

The piano, Roderich reflected as he teased the brilliant notes of Chopin from the instrument, was a great many things. It was a calming voice of reason, a soother of the soul, and a joyful ensnarer of the senses. It was an often much-needed escape from reality into other worlds shaped by chords and octaves. However, tragically, not even the piano was enough to drown out the sound of Gilbert's voice.

"Did I tell you that I might have my own land again soon?" he was saying at that moment, speaking just loud enough for his words to carry clearly over Roderich's playing. "There are a couple of states in Germany that are going to merge together and name themselves Prussia. Isn't that _awesome_?"

"Very," Roderich responded flatly without missing a note. "I can hardly wait."

"Me neither!" Gilbert had either ignored the sarcasm or was just totally unable to comprehend why anyone would be less than ecstatic to hear that Prussia could be making a comeback, no matter how small. "It won't be long until I'm hanging my flag out in the streets again and people are singing my national anthem and thanking me for allowing them the privilege of being part of my glorious nation. Do you know what the first thing I'm going to do is when I have land and people again?"

"Do tell," Roderich replied distractedly.

"I'm going to build an army and expand my territory by invading Austria," Gilbert said proudly, as if the nation in question wasn't the owner of the house he was currently sitting in. "Then you'll be my slave and have to do whatever I say. I think I'll make you the maid in my new house and you can scrub the floors, make the beds, do the dishes, give me sexual favours –"

A horrible crashing noise sounded from the piano where Roderich had slammed both hands onto the keys in shock. He whirled round on his stool to face Gilbert, who was looking rather stunned at the sudden noise.

"_What_ did you just say?" Roderich demanded.

"I said that you'd be doing my dishes?" Gilbert suggested, looking as though he didn't understand what all the fuss was about.

"After that!"

"…that you'd be scrubbing my floors?"

"You said that _before_ the dishes, moron."

"Well _you're_ the maid, it's _your_ job to keep track of the household chores," Gilbert snapped. Roderich sighed and massaged his temple, sure that the onslaught of stupid was starting to give him a headache.

"I was talking about the part where you mentioned sexual favours," he clarified.

"Oh, yeah. What about it?" Gilbert replied casually. Roderich stared at him. The other nation was wearing a serious expression. Roderich suspected that in his mind, Gilbert was already seeing this supposed new state of his as having risen to the former glory of Prussia (something that Roderich severely doubted Ludwig would ever let happen) and that Austria already belonged to him. Arrogant idiot. But, frighteningly enough, he seemed equally convinced that Roderich's duties as his maid were concrete plans for the future.

"Um. You don't look as though you're joking," Roderich observed slowly. Gilbert raised an eyebrow.

"Did I giggle?" he asked, looking as matter of fact as if they were discussing the weather. Roderich, meanwhile, was struggling to keep his composure.

"Maybe you should be doing, as the very thought of us ever doing anything improper together is hilarious in its absurdity," he said stiffly. Gilbert looked thoughtful.

"You think so?" he asked distractedly. "Because I find that mental image rather hot." He broke out of his perverted daydream to direct his best leer towards Roderich, who, despite his best efforts, could not contain the furious blush that spread across his face like wildfire. He turned away in an attempt to hide it from Gilbert.

"I assure you that none of your lewd imaginings will ever become a reality," he somehow managed to say. "Even if by some impossible feat you were actually able to carry out your intentions of securing a state and declaring it independent from Germany, you would never be able to –" The rest of his sentence was cut off by the startled gasp he made when he felt Gilbert's lips press an open mouthed kiss to his neck. He hadn't even heard the other nation move. A hand came to rest on his hip while another slid onto his thigh and started to creep its way towards his…Roderich grabbed it by the wrist before he could even think about its intended goal. He felt Gilbert smirk against his neck but didn't seem able to move or even breathe for that matter as the other nation moved his mouth up to trace the shell of Roderich's ear with his tongue and then catch the lobe in his mouth, and oh, but that felt really, really –

And suddenly he was standing and holding Gilbert back at arm's length.

"What do you think you're doing?!" Roderich almost winced at how flustered he sounded. He fought to regain control over the acrobats who had suddenly started performing very impressive flips in his stomach. Gilbert's predatory smirk didn't help his efforts.

"I thought we could get some practice in before you start work at my place," he purred.

"There's no guarantee that you'll even _have_ your own place ever again," Roderich protested. Gilbert waved away the possibility with a flick of the wrist.

"Of course I will! Why wouldn't West want to name his state after my brilliant nation? Prussia was the greatest nation in the world and everyone knows it." Gilbert basked in his own awesomeness for a moment while Roderich stared in disbelief. He then seemed to remember their present situation. "Now come here and stop being difficult," he ordered, and grabbed Roderich's wrist, yanking him forward into the taller nation's arms.

Roderich would have protested, but all he managed was a small, indistinct noise because there were suddenly lips pressing against his and a firm hand at the back of his head holding him in place and running its fingers through his hair. He'd never been this close to Gilbert before, close enough so that the heat from the other nation's body felt nuclear on his skin. Then, suddenly, Gilbert was teasing open his mouth, and when their tongues met it felt like electricity. Roderich clutched tighter to Gilbert's shirt, though he couldn't even remember when or how his hands had crept up Gilbert's back to where he could now feel the jut of the blond nation's shoulder blades. Unintentionally, Roderich made another muffled noise into Gilbert's mouth, but this one sounded more like a moan. It seemed to encourage Gilbert, who deepened the kiss and moved his hand from encircling Roderich's waist to tug the back of his shirt from his pants, reaching up under the material to slide his hand along Roderich's back, delighting in the feel of skin against skin.

And then suddenly the kiss was broken and Roderich's mouth had never felt so _empty_. He opened his eyes dazedly to find Gilbert's red irises locked onto him with a look so intense that Roderich thought it might burn him. There was an expression on Gilbert's face that in his current light-headed state he couldn't quite fathom, but he was distracted from trying to understand it when Gilbert started trailing light kisses along his jaw and untangled his hand from Roderich's hair to pull the cravat from the shorter nation's collar. Gilbert's fingers nimbly undid the top few buttons of Roderich's shirt so that he could move the collar out of the way as his lips lightly left a path of lingering kisses down Roderich's neck. When he reached the gap between neck and collar bone, he bit the skin lightly and started to suck and nibble on the skin there with a skill that made Roderich's legs feel rather weak.

"You're not complaining anymore," Gilbert murmured, his breath playing across the spot that he'd been kissing, making Roderich shiver.

"It wouldn't stop you if I did," he countered somewhat breathlessly, causing Gilbert to chuckle and place a light kiss just under his ear.

"True," the blond nation admitted, and removed his hand from under Roderich's shirt so that he could gently tug his arm, leading him over to the couch and placing chaste kisses to his lips and cheeks as they went.

Roderich let himself be pushed down onto the soft fabric of the couch that Gilbert had been lounging on for most of the afternoon. He didn't even say anything when Gilbert's shoes, which Roderich constantly told him to remove when in the house and which the other nation constantly wore regardless, were pressed into his sofa. He was too distracted by the fact that Gilbert was resting between his thighs, leaning down to practically lie on top of him as they kissed again, and Roderich's world shrank once more to a hazy bubble of body heat and desire. He ran his hands up and down Gilbert's back, appreciating the other's fit, toned body in a way he'd never allowed himself to before.

Gilbert, meanwhile, was untucking the rest of Roderich's shirt so that he could reach to undo the final few buttons. His fingers fluttered across Roderich's belly and slid smoothly over his chest, exploring every region of his torso and mapping out each dip and rise of his skin, memorising the faintly defined ribs and the way that his chest rose and fell with his breathing. Then he shifted himself further down the couch so that his mouth could follow the patterns he'd traced with his hands, using breath, lips, tongue, teeth. He listened to the noises that Roderich made, learning which spots provoked the strongest reactions, where to be gentle and where to be not so gentle. He lightly bit Roderich's hip where it met the waistband of his trousers and felt the other nation shiver. He smirked.

Roderich was very aware that the blood that had coloured his cheeks earlier had now flowed further south on his body. Apparently Gilbert had noticed as well because as he kissed his way back up to Roderich's throat he let his hand wander into the region that begged for his attention, receiving a very satisfying gasp of his name and a twitch from Roderich's hips as a result. After kissing Roderich deeply on the mouth, feeling the other nation's need through the intensity he displayed, he leant close to Roderich's ear to whisper seductively to him.

"Let me help you with that." He indicated 'that' with a firm stroke to the relevant part of Roderich's body, delighting in the moan that it produced. He slid his hand up to the top of Roderich's trousers and was fiddling with the button when –

"So _this_ is where you ran off to."

Roderich, dazed and not quite able to form coherent thoughts due to sensory overload, wasn't quite able to place the voice, though it was _very_ familiar. A part of his subconscious, however, _did_ recognise it and was saying 'oh shit' in a rather panicked tone. Gilbert moved his hand away from anywhere inappropriate and glared up at the newcomer, and his words, when he spoke, had the effect on Roderich as a bucket of ice.

"Fuck off, West, can't you see I'm busy?" he snapped, looking totally unabashed at being caught in rather more than just a compromising position by his brother, although he was clearly irritated at being interrupted.

"You can come back round here later, but right now you're coming with me, or did you forget that we're having Kiku and Feliciano round for dinner? I need you to help me prepare the meal," Ludwig scolded his brother, who, judging from the look on his face, had totally forgotten about any such plans.

"OK, fine, how about this," Gilbert said, glancing at Roderich. "Give me twenty minutes to finish up here and then I'll – hey!"

The angry shout was caused by Roderich finally overcoming enough of his horror and embarrassment to sit up and push Gilbert off the couch. Ignoring the curses directed at him from the floor, he turned to Ludwig, who wore his normal stoic expression, although he cocked an eyebrow a little as he took in several of the marks that had already become quite obvious on Roderich's chest. The brunette hurriedly pulled his shirt closed and straightened his glasses, trying to gather even a shred of his dignity.

"This isn't what it looks like!" he tried to explain, and Ludwig's eyebrow rose almost to his hairline. "I'm a victim here! He was molesting me against my will!"

"You looked pretty consenting from what I saw," Ludwig replied mildly, and Roderich flushed as he remembered exactly what had been about to happen when the German had walked in.

"Of course he was consenting," Gilbert chipped in from his seat on the floor. "How could anybody _possibly_ resist my amazing sex appeal?" Roderich threw a cushion at him and felt mild satisfaction when it hit him square in the face. Why not? It wasn't as if he had any dignity left to lose.

"You don't look very surprised," the Austrian remarked to Ludwig, who was now leaning against the doorjamb and trying not to smile. Roderich paused slightly before hesitantly continuing, "Does this sort of thing happen often?"

Ludwig shook his head and Roderich firmly repressed any feelings of relief that the action gave him. "No," Ludwig said, "but it's not exactly shocking if it's with you." Roderich stared at him, shocked.

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" he demanded to know. "I don't have any sort of interest in your brother. I've never so much as looked at him the wrong way before!"

"You totally have," argued Gilbert, who seemed to be perfectly comfortable on the carpet. "And you were definitely pretty interested just then when I was –" Roderich threw another cushion at him, but harder and less well-aimed than the first time as it sailed past Gilbert's head, missing him by an inch. Gilbert glared at him. "Would you stop using me for target practice?" he asked irritably. "It's not _my_ fault that you totally want me."

Roderich gave in to a childish impulse. "Do not!" he retorted.

"Do too!" Gilbert insisted, and Roderich blanched as he realised that he was acting as if he was on the same intellectual level as Gilbert. It was a more horrifying realisation than when he'd discovered that Ludwig had been the one to catch him getting rather close to Gilbert.

Meanwhile, Ludwig had grown bored of their bickering and moved from his position in the doorway to collect Gilbert, yanking him upright by the back of his shirt.

"You can dispute this some other time. Right now, I need you back at the house," he said sternly.

"God, you're such a cockblocker, West," his brother grumbled as Ludwig dragged him through the door, the German nodding to Roderich on his way out. Gilbert called back to Roderich from the hallway: "Don't worry, I'll be sure to find a great maid uniform for when you become my slave!"

Ludwig's voice, quieter but audible, drifted from the hall in response. "Could you keep the details to yourself? I don't want to know what kind of weird things you two get up to in the bedroom."

Roderich let his head drop into his hands, feeling the heat radiating from his cheeks, too scandalised to even correct the misunderstanding. He listened to the front door slam on Gilbert's maniacal laughter, which he could still hear faintly until the two brothers had left his property completely. Staring through the gaps between his fingers at the two cushions lying on the floor, he wondered if he'd ever be able to look Ludwig in the eye again. He knew that he wouldn't have the same trouble with facing Gilbert, but that's because the problem with him was going to lie elsewhere. Roderich knew Gilbert well enough to know that he wouldn't give up on finishing what he'd started. It was going to get tedious having to fight off his advances, because obviously Roderich didn't want a repeat of what had happened today. He hadn't even _liked_ it, really; he'd just gotten caught up in the moment, and, well, Gilbert _was_ really good at what he did, especially that part where he –

Roderich smacked himself on the head to try and beat the memories out of his mind, but it was a futile effort. He could still feel the tingles on his skin where some of Gilbert's more vigorous attentions had been given, and one part of him in particular was _very_ unhappy at the sudden loss of the Prussian. Roderich supposed he ought to do something about that. Sighing, he stood and picked up the cushions, arranging them neatly on the sofa again. He was going to go and have a cold shower, he decided, and then come back down to play a few more pieces on the piano. His eyes fell on the piano stool where Gilbert's troublesome advances had commenced. A _very_ cold shower, he though.

**BONUS**

Gilbert sat at the table around which Ludwig, Kiku and Feliciano were also seated, eating the meal that his brother had thought more important than Gilbert finally getting some action with a certain Austrian. It was bullshit, he mused idly as he speared another piece of wurst with his fork. Clearly his needs were more important than some stupid meal being ready in time. Couldn't Ludwig _see_ how amazingly sexy Roderich was? Did he not _understand_ how hard it was going to be for him to get into that situation again, now that he'd lost the element of surprise?

He was brought out of his thoughts by Kiku addressing him. "Huh? What?" he asked stupidly, looking up from where he'd been stabbing the wurst.

"I asked if you were all right," Kiku repeated, also eyeing the sausage-directed violence.

"Oh. Yeah, I'm good, though I'd be better if I hadn't been so rudely interrupted earlier when I was so close at getting into Roderich's pants – ow!" He glared at Ludwig, who had stamped on his foot rather harder than necessary, Gilbert thought. He glared.

Ludwig merely ignored him and calmly offered a tureen to the shocked looking Kiku. "More potatoes?" he asked.


	2. Chapter One

**A/N - here's the second chapter! Because the first chapter was intended as a oneshot (the people over at LJ forced me to write more because they wanted to see FrenchMaid!Austria) the second chapter is set about a month afterwards (as is made obvious in the chapter) and then the events of the next nine chapters will follow on at the pace of about one day covered in each chapter. So reading the fic as a whole might be a bit weird with the time jump between the first and second chapters, but I did the best I could. And yes you heard me, this fic will be 11 chapters long in total. I think it's going to kill me XD**

Roderich felt the urge to stretch in a very undignified way as he left the meeting room. He had been sitting in an uncomfortable chair surrounded by squabbling nations for over two hours. It had been incredibly tiring and nothing much had gotten done, despite Ludwig's attempts to keep everyone on topic. Roderich sighed. He hated these meetings.

"Hey Arthur!" Roderich turned as he heard a familiar voice, frowning as he saw Gilbert tackle the English nation with enough force to make him take a couple of steps back in order to regain his balance. What on Earth was Gilbert doing here? Since Prussia had been dissolved, Gilbert had been set free of all the duties that fell to the personification of a country. He hadn't seemed the understand that the rest of the world could keep functioning as normal without him, however, and a few times he had sauntered into world conferences and other important meetings demanding that they hurry up because he was bored and had no one to play with. In the end he had been banned altogether, which he seemed to view as a personal; achievement and bragged about when given the chance.

"Sometimes I can't tell if you're happy to see me or trying to kill me," Arthur was saying to him at that moment, Gilbert still clinging to him.

"I'm _very_ happy to see you," Gilbert clarified. "But if I do accidentally kill you one day, can I have England? Since you won't need it anymore." Arthur arched an eyebrow, which was always a rather impressive sight, and looked as though he was trying not to smile.

"Well I suppose someone needs to take care of it," he replied, "but only if you promise to return Britain to its former glory. Start by invading France and those ungrateful former colonies of mine. And make sure to sink a few of Antonio's ships while you're at it – it's traditional." Gilbert let go of him so that he could grasp both of Arthur's hands together, an expression of total elation on his features.

"I will, I promise! I'll rename the whole world Prussia. It'll be beautiful." Arthur laughed at Gilbert's enthusiasm and Roderich, who had watched this exchange from a little way off, shook his head and turned to leave, only to hear _his_ name shouted out in the same gleeful tone as Arthur's had been. He braced himself in case Gilbert was planning to tackle him in a similar manner, but thankfully the Prussian either managed to restrain himself or didn't quite dare, because all that he did was pop up in front of Roderich, blocking his escape and dragging Arthur with him.

"Did you miss me?" he asked hopefully.

"No," Roderich replied flatly, and watched blankly as Gilbert's expression turned to outrage.

"Why not?" he demanded.

"Is it me or are you even more hyperactive than usual today?" Roderich asked, ignoring the other nation's question. Gilbert's face immediately broke into a grin.

"I'm just excited about tonight," he explained.

"Why, what's happening tonight?" Roderich asked sharply. "I hope you're not planning to try and annex any of the Baltic States again because I will _not_ save you from Ivan a third time. Also, don't even think about declaring war on Sealand again. Just accept that _neither_ of you have armies; just because Peter can't beat you doesn't mean that you can beat him, and I'm sick of you dripping seawater all over my house. Furthermore –"

"Actually, all that's happening is that he's coming out drinking with me and some of the others," Arthur cut in, trying very hard not to laugh at Gilbert, who was looking incredibly proud at the mention of his exploits and either not caring or totally missing the fact that he was being scolded.

"Oh _God_." Roderich closed his eyes and adopted a pained expression. Even worse things happened when Gilbert was drunk than when he was sober, and that was saying something.

"You're coming with us," Gilbert added casually, so casually that Roderich had idly nodded and opened his mouth to tell Gilbert that he didn't appreciate lewd phone calls at two o'clock in the morning either, especially if the inappropriate comments were made between off-key verses of the Prussian national anthem, before he realised what Gilbert had said. He closed his mouth again and looked at Gilbert pityingly.

"Do you really believe that?" he asked.

"Don't worry, I'll protect you from Francis," Gilbert reassured him, as if there couldn't possibly be any other reason why Roderich wouldn't want to join them.

"But who's going to protect me from _you_?" Roderich replied. Before Gilbert could respond, someone else spoke.

"Did I hear my name?" Francis asked mildly as he approached. Gilbert's eyes lit up and he launched himself at the Frenchman in a similar way to how he had tackled Arthur before. Roderich wondered irritably why every nation apart from him was greeted with such enthusiasm. Not that he wanted to be jumped on in such a manner, of course. It was just the principle of the thing.

"Francis!" Gilbert was now exclaiming. "I've missed you so much! You don't call, you don't write…"

"As a matter of fact, _mon cher_, I last saw you three days ago," Francis replied in an amused tone. Gilbert looked at him in bewilderment that slowly turned to thoughtfulness.

"Oh yeah," he said, ignoring Francis' hand as it moved in for a perfunctory grope. Roderich twitched.

"Ludwig's coming with us too," Arthur suddenly said to him, and Roderich gladly turned his attention towards the distraction. "So things shouldn't get _too_ out of hand. Or, at least, they won't get out of control as quickly as they would otherwise. You'll have plenty of time to escape before anyone starts dancing naked on the tables."

"Would this 'anyone' be you or Gilbert?" Roderich asked. Arthur had the decency to look rather sheepish.

"Whichever one of us can get undressed the quickest," he admitted. There was no point in denying it. Both nations had a reputation when it came to alcohol. In fact Arthur had a _Reputation_ with a capital R, but Roderich suspected that this was only because Arthur acted much more sensibly when sober, whereas Gilbert could manage incredible feats of stupidity whether he was intoxicated or not. Therefore it was much more memorable to behold Arthur 'pissed off his head' as the English nation might have put it. The contrast tended to shock people.

"Plus, if you don't come, he'll probably end up trying to invade your house at three in the morning and end up passed out on your roof again," Arthur added. "Did you ever find out how he got up there?"

"No. He couldn't remember a thing from the night before," Roderich replied. He paused as he weighed up his options and eventually sighed in defeat. "All right, I'll come with you, but only for a couple of hours. It sounds like the lesser of the two evils."

Although Gilbert had been chatting animatedly with Francis, he must have somehow sensed that Roderich had given in, because he immediately bounded back over to them, looking thrilled. "I knew you'd see it my way," he said smugly, as if he had been the one to persuade Roderich into reluctant acceptance of his fate. Then again, he _had_ been the reason why Roderich had acquiesced because putting up with a drunken Gilbert in a bar for a couple of hours was preferable to trying and failing to kick a drunken Gilbert off his property. Not to mention the difficulty of finding a ladder long enough to reach the roof of his house.

"Don't look so apprehensive," Francis said soothingly. "We'll take good care of you."

"We will," Gilbert agreed enthusiastically. "And if you wake up the next morning to discover that you don't remember anything and unlikely parts of your body are aching, don't worry, that's perfectly normal." He beamed at Roderich while Francis leered behind him, and Roderich suddenly wondered if he had made a very wrong decision.

"You might want to keep a close eye on your drink," Arthur muttered to him. It was going to be a very long night, Roderich realised wearily. A _very_ long night.

***

Gilbert barged into Roderich's house at about ten to eight that evening, He looked around the ground floor and, not finding his intended target there, climbed the stairs and entered Roderich's bedroom without bothering to knock. He stared.

"Do you mind?" Roderich snapped. He threw the shirt he was holding onto the bed and folded his arms across his bare torso. It was the stupidest question that he had ever asked, Gilbert thought vaguely.

"Um. No," the taller nation replied. Roderich arched an eyebrow, clearly meaning 'get out, you moron, I'm getting changed.' In response, Gilbert closed the bedroom door behind him and smiled innocently as if to say 'carry on, I won't stop you. In fact, I rather encourage you to take off your pants. Hint, hint.'

Sighing, Roderich turned to pull a more casual dark green shirt from his drawer, trying very hard to ignore the feeling of Gilbert's eyes boring into his back. He wondered if it was really a good idea to take his eyes off the other nation while he was half naked and decided that it probably wasn't advisable. Turning around, he fought off the feeling of acute self-consciousness caused by Gilbert openly staring. He tried to button the shirt as quickly as possible.

"So where are we going exactly?" he asked to try and distract the other nation and bring a sense of normality back to the room.

"It's a bar that we go to quite often," Gilbert started, his eyes not straying from where they were following the path of Roderich's fingers moving along the buttons that suddenly seemed a lot harder to fasten than usual. Roderich faltered and stared at him.

"There are bars that let you back in after the first time?" he asked, genuinely astounded. Gilbert finally met his eyes, looking rather amused.

"Well we buy a lot of drinks, and I do mean a _lot_," he said. "It's good money and we don't take offense when they kick us out after we've had a bit too much – it's more fun to cause havoc in the streets anyway…" He trailed off as he noticed Roderich trying to undo his trousers inconspicuously. This attention was more than Roderich could bear, however, and he glared at Gilbert.

"Could you stop being such a voyeur?" he snapped. While in general it didn't bother him to get changed in the same room as someone else (providing the someone else was also male), he felt as though he was unwittingly performing a strip-tease. Gilbert had always been a little, well, perverted, to put it bluntly, a trait that Roderich believed to result from Gilbert hanging around Francis too much, but lately something had…changed. Since last month when they had gotten a little too close on the sofa, there had been a tension between them, and even Roderich couldn't pretend to himself that he didn't know what kind of tension it was, although he had tried very hard. But there were other things that seemed different: the way that Gilbert looked at him sometimes, the tingle that the other nation's touch left on his skin, and the way Roderich's pulse quickened every time Gilbert flashed that roguish grin at him. Most mysterious of all was that he hadn't immediately kicked Gilbert out of his bedroom just now.

"If you don't stop staring at me then I'm not going anywhere," he declared, folding his arms and praying that his pants wouldn't fall down now that they were unfastened. Gilbert pouted but grudgingly crossed to the other side of the bed and sat down so that he had his back to Roderich.

"Happy?" he asked. Roderich considered this.

"More so than I was a minute ago," he conceded.

Gilbert stared out of the window at the sunset that was tinting the clouds pink and listened to the sounds of Roderich getting changed. It was strangely thrilling and somehow more sensual to picture Roderich's movements in his mind's eye based on the faint rasp of cloth against skin than actually watching the other nation. When he was given the go ahead to turn around again, Roderich was wearing a pair of tan-coloured pants and placing his discarded garments neatly on the back of a chair. Bathed in the warm light that slanted in from the window, he had a sun kissed beauty that took Gilbert's breath away. He was also, chipped in the part of Gilbert that thought with an organ that wasn't his brain, deliciously sexy. But then again, Roderich always was.

As Roderich locked the front door on their way out, Gilbert silently positioned himself just so that when Roderich turned around he found himself trapped against the door by the taller nation. Taking advantage of Roderich's moment of surprised stillness, Gilbert leaned in to press a chaste kiss to the other's lips. Roderich pushed him away and instinctively started to raise a hand to his mouth, but paused it at about chest height as if unsure what he should do with it.

"I told you to stop doing that," he said, but Gilbert saw a totally different message in his eyes. Roderich didn't even seem to be aware of how much want showed in the way he looked at Gilbert at times like these. It was almost irresistible to just smother those protests until they turned into encouragements and inarticulate sounds of pleasure, but now wasn't the time. It would, however, be the time very soon, Gilbert was sure. He had a Plan.

They took a taxi into the centre of town where their intended destination sat on a road lined with bars, pubs and clubs. Various types of music washed out into the street through the open doors, creating a background thrum of energy through the mix-matched beats. Gilbert seemed totally in his element, but Roderich felt lost and stranded as he watched the taxi drive away. He unconsciously moved closer to Gilbert, who noticed and casually reached up to rest his hand on Roderich's shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"This way," was all he said, leading Roderich along the road towards a bar that had its door wedged open to let in the last of the day's heat. Usually Roderich would have shrugged off the hand that stayed resting on his shoulder, but the feel of Gilbert's arm against his back was comforting and familiar in the Friday night clubland that was so alien to him. It was almost as if he had lost a lifeline when Gilbert let go as they entered the bar.

It didn't take long to spot the other European nations. They were sitting around a table that was already clustered with glasses of wine, beer and whatever it was that Arthur and Antonio were drinking, because Roderich would have bet the whole of Austria that it wasn't just coke. On one side of the table was a cushioned bench where Francis was seated in between Arthur and Antonio, an arm casually draped across the top of the bench behind either of them in an unnervingly good imitation of a pimp. He was currently teasing Arthur, judging from the expression on the English nation's face, while Antonio was chatting amiably to Lovino, who sat on his other side. Seated on wooden chairs on the opposite side of the table were Feliciano, who was also participating in the conversation between his twin and Antonio, and Ludwig, who spotted the newcomers and beckoned them over.

"You go sit down," Gilbert said, "while I get the drinks." Something about the pleasant innocence in his voice broke through Roderich's discomfort and he grabbed Gilbert's arm to stop him from getting away.

"I'll have red wine," he said pointedly and Gilbert sighed in disappointment.

"You're far too quick on the uptake," he said before slipping off towards the bar.

Roderich took a seat next to Ludwig, if anything feeling even more uneasy now that he was amongst familiar faces in such an unfamiliar setting. It didn't help that Francis looked delighted to see him.

"Ah, Roderich, I am so pleased to see you here," he greeted in his lilting accent. "You are looking _très beau_."

"Thank you," Roderich replied warily. Francis chuckled.

"Don't look so scared, _mon cher_, I don't bite." Several people around the table paused their conversations to stare at him in disbelief. Arthur snorted.

"Anyone who escapes you with only a few bites is very lucky," he said drily. Francis smiled and made a suggestion that caused Roderich to blush furiously and wonder through his shock how even someone like Francis could say things like that with such a mild expression, as if it was totally acceptable to make X-rated comments in public. Arthur merely took another sip of his drink as he listened calmly.

"Yes, maybe, but not with you," he replied, and Roderich felt a wave of sympathy for him. No one deserved to be around Francis for long enough to be used to comments like that.

Roderich was distracted from staring at Francis in a sort of shocked horror by a glass of wine clinking down on the table in front of him. Gilbert pulled his chair closer to the shorter nation's side than was strictly necessary and drained half of his beer in one go before sighing in satisfaction. It slowly dawned on Roderich that the two hours he had promised to stay for were going to last a lifetime longer than they should.

Indeed the first hour seemed to go by as if time was wading through treacle, moving Roderich through the evening and into the night at a snail's pace. By half past nine only Ludwig and himself were still totally sober, although it had to be said that Gilbert was only tipsy. He seemed to be drinking at a slower pace than normal, probably for Roderich's benefit. Arthur wasn't faring too badly either, which was rather surprising, but then again the night was young and there was plenty of time to get as wasted as possible. Why rush things?

"Ve, ve." Feliciano had popped up at Roderich's end of the table. "Lovino, Antonio, Ludwig and I are going to one of the clubs down the street. Are you guys coming?" Neither Ludwig not Lovino looked particularly happy with these arrangements, Roderich noted vaguely through his dread. He could handle a bar, but if he was dragged into a club then he would probably just die on the spot. Therefore he felt an enormous relief when the other three all declined the invitation.

"And then there were four," Francis remarked when the others had left. "Now it is like a, how you say, double date, no?" He slid along the bench until there was barely an inch separating him and Arthur. The English nation immediately got up and took a seat in one of the chairs next to Gilbert. "You are so cruel," Francis said to him, but he didn't look particularly upset. "I suppose in that case we have only one couple and a doomed love affair." Arthur snorted at Francis' description of them, but Roderich looked up sharply.

"Gilbert and I are _not_ a couple," he said sharply. Francis looked mildly surprised.

"Are you sure?" he asked. "Because I have heard some interesting things about an incident last month." Roderich shot a glare at Gilbert, who was studiously avoiding his eyes and looking suspiciously innocent. Francis' next question, however, shattered any irritation that Roderich was feeling by stunning him into the state of shock. "Haven't you even had sex?" the Frenchman asked curiously. Roderich snapped his head back round to look at him, wide-eyed and flushed.

"Of course not!" he somehow managed to protest, shaking his head emphatically to further emphasise his denial. Francis looked bewildered.

"Why not?" he asked, sounding genuinely mystified.

"Because…" For a moment words failed Roderich and his sentence spluttered and died, but he persevered desperately. "Because I'm not interested in Gilbert in that way," he lied, carefully avoiding looking at the nation seated to his right. He wished suddenly that he had more alcohol in his system; maybe then he would be able to fool himself into believing that he hadn't spent a lot of the night noticing the way Gilbert's plain black t-shirt clung to his torso, defining his well-toned muscles. Then again, he thought desperately, trying to make some kind of excuse, he had also been wondering whether the enormous rips in the other nation's jeans were a fashion statement or the aftermath of Elizabeta becoming so annoyed by him that she had tried to cut off his legs at the knees. He had decided that it was probably both and then moved back to stealing small glances at Gilbert's nicely-shaped upper body. OK, so there went the theory that he had only been observing the other's clothing in a superficial way. Damn.

"So you're not interested in him romantically _or_ physically?" It was Arthur who had asked this time, leaning forwards and resting his chin on his hand, his elbow on the table, so that he was at an angle where he could see past Gilbert to meet Roderich's eyes.

"I don't care about him in any way at all," Roderich agreed, and he could almost _taste_ the lie, it was so huge. He tried not to wince as he practically felt the hurt emanating from Gilbert.

"So you wouldn't want to, for example, snog him?" Arthur persisted, and there was a glint in his eye that Roderich couldn't decipher but definitely didn't like. He sifted through his mental file of British slang and hesitantly translated 'snog' to 'kiss'.

"No," he said, somewhat warily.

"So it wouldn't bother you in the slightest if _I_ snog him then?" Arthur asked cheerfully, and for a moment Roderich was caught totally off guard. Francis was suddenly looking very interested in the way that only an experienced voyeur could.

"What?" was all Roderich managed, but Arthur wasn't waiting for an answer. Roderich watched through a cloud of emotions ranging in sentiment from 'I have no idea what's happening anymore!' to 'kiss him and I will sink your whole goddamn island, you bastard' as Arthur turned Gilbert's face towards him and angled his own, leaning forwards…

Roderich stood up so abruptly that he almost overturned his chair. He vaguely registered that his hands were shaking with rage. Arthur stopped, his lips mere centimetres from Gilbert's, and then he moved back, taking his hand away from the other nation's face. He met Roderich's furious glare with a mildly amused look and raised an eyebrow. Realisation dawned that Arthur had never intended to actually kiss Gilbert; the whole act had just been to provoke a reaction. The relief that flooded Roderich just added to his anger, however, and he subtly adjusted his glare from 'hands off my man' to 'oh, you did _not_ just do that'.

"I'm going to get another drink," he said stiffly, and walked off towards the bar. Arthur watched him go with an expression of satisfaction.

"He wants you so bad," he said to Gilbert, who was staring back at him with something like awe.

"He does," the taller nation agreed.

"You two can still make out if you want to," Francis chipped in hopefully. He was dutifully ignored.

Meanwhile, Roderich had caught the bartender's attention easily after everyone else around the bar had caught a glimpse of his expression and decided that here was a man who _really_ needed a drink.

"Do you know those men sitting over there?" Roderich asked, inclining his head to indicate the table where the other three were sitting. "The Englishman, the Frenchman and the Prussian?"

"Yeah, I know them," the bartender replied. "I think half the money I make is from drinks they've bought."

"Then you know what they're like," Roderich said flatly. "I've had to put up with them for over an hour. I don't know a lot about alcoholic drinks, so please give me something that you deem strong enough to get me through another hour of torture."

The bartender was clearly very familiar with the other three nations as he gave Roderich a look of deep, genuine sympathy before taking a glass and concocting a mixture from enough bottles of alcohol that Roderich lost count of them, plus a trickle of some sort of fruit juice. The resulting drink was an unsettling greeny-blue colour, and Roderich stared at it for a moment before lifting the glass to his lips and draining it completely. It stung his throat, but the fruity undertone was enough to stop him from choking. Feeling slightly light-headed, he replaced the glass on the counter, not noticing the people nearby staring at him.

"I think I need another one," he told the bartender, who nodded even though he looked quite stunned himself.

"You can have this one on the house," he said, recognising a man who had a genuine need to not be sober any longer. "But I'd advise you to drink it a little slower."

When Roderich returned to the table with three quarters of his second drink still in the glass, Francis wasn't there. As he was nowhere to be seen in the immediate vicinity, but there _was_ a group of attractive young women sitting at a table close by, he had presumably gone to the bathroom and not ventured out to harass any innocent bystanders. Taking advantage of his absence, Roderich sat on the bench where the French nation had been sitting in order to make it clear that he was still angry. Gilbert stared at his drink.

"What _is_ that?" he asked curiously.

"I have no idea," Roderich replied truthfully. Arthur stared at it thoughtfully.

"Does it taste like pineapple?" he asked. Roderich took another sip and tried to determine the answer, but all he could really taste was the bitter aftertaste of alcohol.

"Possibly," he concluded. Arthur nodded as if this confirmed his suspicions.

"You don't _want_ to know what it is," he said. Roderich took a long sip from the drink in question and sat in stony silence as he felt the effects of drinking such strong alcohol so quickly set in even more. It didn't help that the most he usually had was a glass or two of wine and so his body was completely unused to such treatment. His head had started to feel funny and his senses were getting a bit muzzy.

"Um, Roderich?" Gilbert suddenly spoke up. He seemed uncharacteristically uneasy. "Are you mad at me?" Roderich looked at him in surprise. Was he not making it obvious enough?

"I don't think I've ever _not_ had a reason to be angry with you," he replied.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Gilbert asked in a hurt tone that only succeeded in irritating Roderich even more.

"Well, let's see," Roderich started sarcastically. "You always barge into my house uninvited and refuse to leave unless I remove you by force, you break anything fragile that you can get your hands on, you're always causing trouble that I have to sort out, you make a mess every time you come over and leave me to clean it up, not to mention –"

"OK, I get the picture," Gilbert interrupted, holding up his hands as if to defend himself against the barrage of words directed at him. "If you really don't like me coming over that much then why don't we make a deal?"

"What kind of deal?" Roderich asked suspiciously.

"Since we're in a bar, let's make things interesting. We'll have a drinking competition and if you win then I won't come over to your house or bother you at all for a whole month."

"And if you win?"

"If I win…well, do you remember when I said that I was going to take over Austria and make you my maid?" Roderich raised an eyebrow at the question. Did Gilbert honestly believe that he could forget that day?

"I remember," he confirmed,

"Well, if I win then I get total control of your house for a week and you have to be my maid and do everything I tell you," Gilbert said, looking smug at the very thought. If Roderich had been less inebriated and less angry then he would have flat-out refused the terms. In fact, he would have laughed off the whole idea of a drinking competition because any fool could see what the outcome would be. Unfortunately, though, he _was_ intoxicated and he wanted to wipe the smirk off Gilbert's face rather badly, which is why he stupidly accepted the challenge. Gilbert grinned.

"Excellent," he said in a positively evil tone of voice that Roderich completely missed. At this point, Francis returned to stand behind Arthur and draped himself over the other nation.

"What's going on?" he asked, and Arthur turned to mutter a quick explanation to him, too distracted to even elbow the Frenchman in the ribs to make him let go. Gilbert ignored them both.

"We'll order more glasses of whatever it is that you're drinking until only one of us is still conscious," he said. "Whoever's the first to pass out loses."

They moved over to the bar and sat on a couple of empty stools, Arthur standing to watch with Francis still wound around him. The Englishman seemed to be past caring and Francis was eagerly taking advantage. The bartender served the first drinks and the two nations downed them. It didn't occur to Roderich that he had already had two glasses of the unnervingly colourful mixture, which was much stronger than the beer that Gilbert had drank four or five pints of. It didn't really make that much difference to his disadvantage, though, as Gilbert was a seasoned pro at consuming near-fatal amounts of alcohol in one sitting and remaining more or less upright. By the third drink, a small crowd of spectators had gathered and Roderich was clinging onto the counter to keep him balanced on his stool.

The fourth round was placed in front of them, and Roderich idly wondered if it was even legal for the bartender to be selling them so much of…whatever it was that they were drinking. He touched the glass to his lips, but he couldn't seem to swallow the liquid as quickly anymore. He could barely taste it as it flowed over his tongue and, come to think of it, he didn't feel very well. The empty glass hit the counter barely five seconds before Roderich's head followed suit. Gilbert smiled victoriously over the rim of his glass. Phase one of the Plan was complete.


	3. Chapter Two

**A/N - so here's chapter 3! I'll probably be updating this about once a week from now on, although I'm not sure how going back to school is going to affect how quickly I can write (which is super slow to begin with!) I stayed up last night until 4am to finish this because I was determined to upload it today, and I spent most of today typing it up (because I write the first drafts of my fanfics with paper and pen. I know, it's weird, but the blank screen of Microsoft Word kills my muse). Anyway, enjoy, and please review :) (Let me know if I overdid the fluffy opening. I cut out one paragraph that went overboard, but I couldn't bear to let anything else go XD) Translations for the German and English slang will be at the bottom of the page**

Roderich woke up and immediately wished that he hadn't. The first thing he noticed was that his head felt as though it had been struck with Elizabeta's frying pan. He moaned quietly in pain. Even through his closed eyelids, the morning light seemed far too bright and he buried his face into his pillow to try and block it out. As a result, the second thing he noticed was that his pillow appeared to have become a living creature since the last time he had slept on it. Roderich was sure that he didn't usually hear a heartbeat or feel his pillow rise and fall in time with the soft, even breaths that he could hear.

OK, Roderich thought, taking a deep, soothing breath. Stay calm. Assess the situation. He managed to slit open one of his eyes and made out the forest green cotton of his shirt before the blinding sunlight forced him to shut it again. He moved his leg slightly and felt the fabric of his trousers rub against his skin. At least he now knew that he was fully clothed, which was always a good sign when waking up in a bed with someone else and not knowing the whos, hows or whys of the situation. Not that this was a position that Roderich found himself in often, of course. However, his relief abruptly turned to horror when he realised that he was also still wearing his shoes. _Shoes_ in _bed_? If it was Roderich's bed that he and his surprisingly chivalrous companion had slept in, he would almost have preferred to have woken up naked. At least then there would be no shoes dirtying his bed.

The next question that needed to be addressed, once Roderich had wrenched his thoughts away from the outrage caused by the possibility of mud-stained sheets, was who exactly was it that Roderich was lying half sprawled across? It wasn't actually a very hard question to answer, and Roderich wondered if he should be worried that he instinctively assumed that if anyone was going to crawl into bed with him, it would be Gilbert. Nevertheless, it wouldn't hurt to check, because Roderich's memories of the night before were rather blurry and seemed to peter out altogether sometime during the first hour when the eight nations had been sitting together around the table in the bar and the only alcohol that Roderich had consumed had been a glass of wine.

Roderich cracked his eyes open again and peered into the sunlit world that caused a whole new wave of pain to throb through his head. Apparently, as well as not removing his shoes before falling into bed, he had also failed to close the curtains last night, and so there was nothing to protect him from the rays of sunlight that seemed to be aiming themselves straight onto Roderich's face. He tried not to look directly at the window as he attempted to angle his head upwards in a way that would allow him to catch sight of his living pillow's face. The movement disturbed the sleeping nation, however, and Roderich found that he didn't need to see the intruder's face because a hand moved lazily to tangle in his hair and a familiar voice husky with sleep purred, "_Guten Morgen, mein H__übscher_." Roderich scowled at the term of endearment. At any other time he would have protested against it, but there were more important matters to be addressed.

"There are _shoes_ in my _bed_," he said accusingly, wincing at the sharp spike of pain that speaking caused. Gilbert chuckled and idly wound Mariazell around his finger.

"I see that you have your priorities all sorted out," he remarked in an amused tone. He brought his other hand up to place it on top of Roderich's, which was lying on the blond nation's chest. Roderich watched as Gilbert intertwined their fingers and felt a fluttering in his stomach that wasn't entirely unpleasant. He suddenly noticed how perfectly he fit into the crook of Gilbert's arm and how completely natural the position felt. It was with guilt that he noted he was almost grateful for the hangover from Hell for giving him a valid reason to stay where he was instead of pulling away and kicking Gilbert out of the bed as he would have done if he had the energy. Instead he nuzzled his head slightly against Gilbert's chest to make himself more comfortable and tried not to picture the small amused smile that he knew would appear on the other's face at the movement.

"How's your head?" Gilbert asked, letting Mariazell unravel and settle back into its rightful place.

Roderich tried to think of a word to describe feeling as thought his brain was made of crushed glass, but no language that he knew had come up with anything strong enough to accurately express how awful he felt. He gave up and expressed his feelings with an emphatic "Urgh." Gilbert laughed, and his chest moved in a way that Roderich didn't appreciate. He hit Gilbert lightly with their joined hands.

"Don't do that," he ordered weakly.

"Sorry," the other nation apologised, and he started to lightly stroke Roderich's hair in an incredibly soothing way. "Is this better?" Roderich could hear the grin in his voice. Gilbert knows, he thought. He knows that I'm in far too much pain to fight back, so he's taking advantage of that and doing whatever he likes. What a jerk. But on the other hand, that _did_ feel really good and Roderich didn't have the energy to protest, so maybe he could let it slide, just this once. But Gilbert was still a jerk.

They might have stayed that way for ten minutes or half an hour; Roderich's sense of time seemed to have stopped working and he lay with his eyes closed, listening to the faint rhythm of Gilbert's heartbeat. The rare moment of serenity was interrupted, however, when a noise floated up from downstairs. Roderich frowned.

"Did anybody else sleep here last night?" he asked warily.

"Only Arthur," Gilbert replied. "I had to rescue him from Francis," he added, in case Roderich was angry about him letting someone else stay the night. "He passed out on the couch practically as soon as we got inside, so he didn't do any harm."

This was probably true, Roderich decided, because if _he_ had managed to get so drunk that he couldn't even remember _being_ drunk, then _Arthur_ must have been completely and totally wasted. Besides, if there was any damage, it would still be there when he didn't feel as though his head was being squeezed in a vice. It could wait.

Unfortunately, Gilbert had other ideas, and he shifted under Roderich, trying to slide out from under the other's body. Without meaning to, Roderich gripped their hands together more tightly and pushed down on Gilbert's chest in a feeble attempt to restrain him. He tried to ask the other nation exactly what he was doing, but all that came out was an inarticulate sound of protest. Oh, dignity, he thought, why have you forsaken me?

"I'm just going to check on Arthur," Gilbert explained, still trying to untangle himself from the limbs that were pinning him to the bed.

"Stay here," Roderich commanded, and then wondered why he had said it. Perhaps he was still drunk. That would explain why he had lost the ability to stop himself from doing and saying what he actually meant. Gilbert merely chuckled, however, and lifted their joined hands so that he could place a small kiss to Roderich's wrist.

"You're cute when you're hungover," he remarked, and thankfully Roderich was too focused on trying to hide his pink cheeks to make any more humiliating attempts to stop the other nation from slipping out from under him and removing his hand from Roderich's lax grip.

When the door had shut gently after Gilbert's departing form, Roderich tried to distract himself from his mortifying behaviour by bringing his knees up to his chest so that he could just about reach to wrestle with his footwear. First one shoe hit the floor, then the other, and Roderich felt a strange sense that justice had been served. He stretched out his legs again and rolled over so that he was no longer facing the window that was traitorously letting in more sunlight than was strictly necessary, which is to say that it was letting in any sunlight at all. If he had had the willpower, he would have gotten up to close the curtains, but it was so much easier to just stay in bed and hope with all his heart that there would be a full solar eclipse scheduled in the next few minutes. Maybe if he wished hard enough, the moon would take pity on him and move.

After a couple of moment, when it had become clear that the moon was a heartless bastard who obviously didn't understand the agonies of a hangover, Roderich's thoughts drifted to the events of last night. At least, they tried to drift there, but what they actually encountered was a thick fog that refused to lift and reveal the memories within. It was very frustrating, especially as a vague feeling that he had done something incredibly stupid was nagging at him, and the harder he tried to remember what it was, the stronger the feeling became. He really hoped that whatever it was didn't have anything to do with why he had woken up in the same bed as Gilbert. To think that he might have said something that could have given Gilbert the impression that he – that he…well, it didn't bear thinking about.

Unfortunately, it was also very easy to think about all of the horrifying possibilities. Perhaps he had drunkenly confessed that nowadays, when he let his mind wander, he would inevitably find himself caught up in memories of that day last month when Ludwig had caught them on the sofa. In fact, more often than not, those memories would lead to _fantasies_, and the contents of those were strictly classified information. Or maybe he had let it slip that, secretly, he thought that Gilbert had the nicest body he had ever seen. Or could he possibly have skipped the words altogether and just slammed Gilbert against the wall and started kissing him? Then again, that would probably have led to other activities, and the presence of their clothes still on their bodies led Roderich to doubt this theory. He wasn't sure if he should be relieved or disappointed about this. But it seemed that he hadn't mentioned anything remotely sexual at all. Maybe that was a good thing. But maybe it wasn't. Maybe he had said something _worse_.

Roderich pulled the duvet up over his head, blocking out the dreaded sunlight and attempting to also block out any thoughts about the other things he could have said. Sentimental things, perhaps. Things that he _definitely_ wouldn't have meant. Embarrassing things. These possibilities were more than he could bear, however, and it was with enormous effort that he wrenched his thoughts into a different, less mentally-scarring direction.

So what exactly had driven Roderich to get drunk in the first place? This was an intriguing question, and maybe if he could figure out the answer then the rest of the details would also fall into place. Roderich fought through the fog in his brain, trying to remember something, _anything_. Slowly, an image started to solidify in his mind, lifting hazily out of the mist. It took the shape of a glass filled with something…green? Roderich frowned. He had strong moral values that dictated against drinking anything that appeared to be radioactive. And yet, the recollection of a taste was accompanying the visual: the taste of something strongly alcoholic and weakly fruity…damnit, he _had_ drunk the nuclear waste. No wonder he was suffering so much now. Another vague memory was prompted by the first. There had been only four of them around the table and he had been very, very angry about something. But what had happened to make him so –

Roderich bolted upright, flinging back the covers. He then instantly regretted the sudden movement as his head swam and he felt rather queasy, but there were more important things to worry about than if he would throw up vomit that glowed in the dark. He could remember Arthur leaning towards Gilbert, the distance closing between them, and then, and then – and then what?

At that moment, the bedroom door opened again and Gilbert entered, holding a glass of water and looking surprised at seeing Roderich sitting up. He then must have noticed the other nation's expression because he grinned and asked innocently, "Is something wrong?"

"Did you – last night – and Arthur…?" For some reason, the words didn't want to arrange themselves into the question that Roderich was trying in vain to ask. But it seemed that Gilbert understood.

"Did we make out, you mean?" Gilbert asking, looking highly amused at Roderich's incoherency as he crossed the room to sit on the bed. "No," he answered himself. "Arthur was just winding you up." He handed over the glass and held out two tablets in the other hand. "Here, take these, they'll help with your headache." Roderich swallowed the pills and tried to ignore the relief that flooded through him at Gilbert's words. Then he realised what the words had actually said.

"Why would I get wound up by something like _that_?" he asked, trying to look offended at the very suggestion and hoping beyond hope that he hadn't tried to do anything embarrassing and possibly violent last night to suggest that, actually, he had been very wound up. Such as trying to burn off Arthur's eyebrows, for example. Roderich didn't get drunk often, but he had experienced it in the past and knew exactly what he was capable of when incensed and intoxicated. But then again, Francis had deserved it, and his beard didn't suit him anyway, in Roderich's opinion. It was just a pity that it had grown back so quickly.

"I don't know," Gilbert replied, "but you stormed off so I guess it worked. You weren't jealous, were you?" He grinned rather smugly. Well, at least everybody's facial hair had remained intact, even if Roderich had made it obvious to the world how he really felt when it came to Gilbert. Still, ancient instincts to deny everything kicked in and Roderich was powerless to resist.

"Don't be ridiculous," he said stiffly. "I don't care who you decide to kiss; it's nothing to do with me." As long as the person that you're kissing is me, he added silently, and wondered with vague horror why he was being so honest with himself.

"That's not what you were saying last night," Gilbert retorted, and there was a gleam in his eye that Roderich didn't care for. "Then again, that might have been because your mouth was too busy doing something much better than talking." Roderich's heart skipped a beat and he froze. Oh _God_, no.

"I don't believe you," he managed to say, searching desperately for something in Gilbert's expression that would point to a lie. Gilbert merely leered at him.

"Don't you remember?" he asked, and there was an almost evil glee in his voice. "When we got back to the house you expressed your undying lust for me and gave me a blow job. You were very good at it." He ran his tongue over his bottom lip in a way that made Roderich shiver, and only partly in horror.

"But – I – no –" he stuttered. It was all the more awful because it was _believable_. He stared at Gilbert pleadingly, begging him with his eyes to take it back, say it wasn't true…

Gilbert's expression finally cracked and he burst out laughing. "Just kidding!" he managed to say when he had calmed down. "But," he added, moving closer so speak in a low voice near Roderich's ear, "if you _wanted_ to give me one, I wouldn't say no."

Without even stopping to think about what he was doing, Roderich lifted his glass and tipped the water over Gilbert's head. He felt very satisfied when the other nation gasped in shock and stared at him half in outrage and half in total disbelief. Roderich smirked.

"Oops," he said softly. "My hand slipped." He stifled a laugh as Gilbert glared at him, his hair plastered to his head and droplets of water running down his neck to soak into his shirt.

"That was uncalled for," he said sulkily.

"Accidents happen," Roderich replied, not even trying to keep the smug tone from his voice. He leaned across Gilbert to set the empty glass down onto the bedside table, then climbed over the other nation's legs to get out of the bed.

"Is Arthur still downstairs?" he asked as he gathered an armful of clean clothes from his drawers. The reply he got was muffled and he turned to see that Gilbert had pulled off his t-shirt and was drying his face with it. When he moved the material up to his hair, he must have noticed Roderich's blank expression because he repeated himself more clearly.

"I said no, I sent him out on an errand." Something in his tone made Roderich pause and stare at him sternly, although from this distance and without his glasses, Gilbert looked too blurry for Roderich to make out his expression.

"What kind of errand?" Roderich asked suspiciously. Gilbert waved his hand airily.

"He's just gone to pick something up for me." He laughed suddenly. "You really don't remember anything from last night, do you?"

"I remember _some_ things," Roderich protested, somewhat confused about the relevance of his memories to Arthur's errand. The feeling that he had done something stupid hammered at his brain again, but he tried to ignore it. "I'm going for a shower. Try not to break anything while I'm in there." Gilbert's eyes lit up.

"I'll join you," he offered, getting to his feet.

"No," Roderich replied flatly. "You won't." He shut the door on Gilbert's disappointed face and headed into the bathroom, hoping that the soothing warmth of the water would help to ease the pain in his head, since the tablets didn't seem to be having any effect.

When Roderich finally emerged from the bathroom, dressed in fresh clothes and not feeling any better, it was a good half hour later. Gilbert was no longer in the bedroom when he went to collect his glasses. The rest of the house was very quiet – suspiciously so since Gilbert was only ever quiet if he was plotting something that would result in even more noise than usual. As Roderich descended the stairs to search for him, the front door opened. He was about to ask Gilbert where he had been, but then realised that it was Arthur, carrying a large, opaque plastic bag. He looked up and saw Roderich, giving him a smile that somehow managed to look innocent and sinister at the same time.

"Good –" he checked his watch, "-afternoon. How're you feeling?"

"Terrible," Roderich replied, wondering if he would win some sort of prize for understatement of the century. He noticed that Arthur was looking surprisingly fresh and cheerful. "Don't you have a hangover?"

"Not really. A bit of a headache, but that's to be expected after a night out on the piss." Roderich stared a little blankly at the expression, supposing that it was another slang term for going out and getting drunk. It was amazing how many terms the British population came up with for the state of being intoxicated. Sometimes it seemed to Roderich that every month somebody, possibly Arthur, let the dictionary fall open and pointed to a random word to turn into a new slang word for getting drunk. Arthur hadn't noticed his confused expression however, as he was trying to peer through the open door of the living room. "Is Gilbert around?"

As if on cue, the kitchen door opened and Gilbert sauntered out, eating the remains of some sort of cake and, for some unfathomable reason, still shirtless. Arthur's eyebrows shot up at the last fact, no doubt drawing the entirely wrong conclusion, but Gilbert just waved at him as he licked the crumbs from his fingers. Roderich frowned in exasperation.

"You better not have made a mess of my kitchen," he said threateningly. "And why are you wondering round my house half naked?"

"The kitchen's still there," Gilbert replied vaguely, not exactly filling Roderich with confidence. "And _somebody_ threw water over my shirt."

"Then go and get another one. You're always leaving clothes here – I have a whole wardrobe full of your things," Roderich replied, gesturing vaguely towards the stairs. Gilbert looked astonished.

"Really?" he asked, as if he hadn't noticed that he had somehow misplaced an entire wardrobe of clothes.

"Go see for yourself. The amount of times you've left things on the bedroom floor after you've stayed the night –" Roderich broke off at a noise from Arthur that sounded like he was trying not to laugh. Gilbert was also snickering to himself. Roderich looked blank for a moment, then realised exactly what he had said. He flushed. "I didn't mean it like that!" he protested. "He sleeps in one of the _guest_ rooms!"

"Of course he does," Arthur said soothingly, succeeding in making Roderich even more flustered. He turned to Gilbert. "You go get dressed and then I'll give you this." He held up the carrier bag. Gilbert's eyes gleamed at the sight of it and he glanced at Roderich in a way that would have made the other nation very uneasy if he wasn't still mortified over his poorly-phrased comment. He didn't even notice Gilbert's eagerness as the topless nation climbed the stairs two at a time.

"Don't get the wrong impression," he almost pleaded with Arthur. "There's nothing between Gilbert and me."

"I believe you," Arthur replied sincerely before letting the amused smirk back onto his face. "If he was already shagging you then he wouldn't've had to get you drunk before you'd agree to _this_." To emphasise 'this', he held up the bag and Roderich, blushing slightly from the English nation's crudeness, looked at it curiously.

"What is it?" he asked warily. "I don't remember agreeing to anything." Arthur laughing, unnerving Roderich even more, but before he could say anything, Gilbert came back down the stairs, wearing a t-shirt and an expression that wouldn't have been out of place on a child's face on Christmas morning. Something stirred uneasily in Roderich's clouded memories, lurking just below the surface but not quite rising out of the fog.

"You _do_ know that he doesn't remember?" Arthur asked Gilbert who nodded impatiently. "Maybe you should refresh his memory first." Gilbert sighed, but turned to Roderich.

"Remember that I said you got pissy and stormed off after Arthur pretended to make a move on me?" he asked. Roderich was about to instinctively deny everything again before realising that both of the nations in front of him had witnessed his anger and that lying would be pointless. He grudgingly nodded. "Well, you came back with a really strong drink and you must have had something at the bar because you weren't quite sober." That would be the green drink, Roderich thought, and he could remember sitting opposite the other two, furious at them both. "You were having a go at me," Gilbert continued, looking rather hurt, as if none of Roderich's accusations had been justified in the slightest. "So I challenged you to a drinking contest –"

"Oh _shit_." Roderich's eyes widened as the conditions of the competition came flooding back to him. It wasn't like him to use such a strong profanity, but he could remember everything now. "Shit," he swore again, to try and make himself feel better. It didn't work. Gilbert and Arthur both looked half shocked at his language, because it was him who was using it, not because they weren't overly familiar with curses, and half amused. Well, Arthur looked amused, but a more accurate word for Gilbert's expression would have been 'evil', which is certainly how Roderich thought he looked at that moment.

"I take it you know what's in the bag now," Gilbert said gleefully. Roderich looked at him pleadingly.

"I don't have to go through with this," he argued desperately. "You can't _make_ me. I refuse!"

"OK," Gilbert replied, shrugging and looking deceptively unaffected by this outburst. "But I don't approve of people breaking their agreements. If you refuse to be my maid for the next week then I _will_ set Francis on you." Roderich paled.

"You wouldn't," he said, but Gilbert looked totally serious.

"It would give me great pains," he admitted, "but I _will_ do it. And I'll give him your outfit too," he added, gesturing towards the bag. Roderich felt his headache, which had eased off a little without him noticing, return with a vengeance. He massaged his temple, trying desperately to think of a way out of this. Eventually he had to give in and admit that there wasn't one, or at least not one that he could think of. So he had to choose between Gilbert, who would probably molest him at every chance he got, or Francis, who would _definitely_ molest him and, a small voice at the back of Roderich's head added, didn't have Gilbert's amazing abs. It wasn't a hard decision.

"Fine," Roderich grudgingly accepted. "I'll do it." Gilbert's face took on an expression of such joy that it was frightening. He grabbed the bag from Arthur and held it out.

"Try it on!" he commanded. "I won't make you start until tomorrow since you're a lightweight and have a hangover, but I want to make sure it fits." Roderich hesitantly took the bag. Glancing inside, he saw black fabric folded at the bottom.

"If I must," he conceded, not able to make out exactly how bad the outfit was. It was probably a dress, he realised resignedly, but he had seen maids – he had employed plenty of them through the years – and their uniforms hadn't been revealing in the slightest. In fact, they had been quite plain and boring. He had always wondered what all the hype about maids was, because none of the ones that he had ever seen had been anyone's definition of sexy.

"I hope you don't mind if I hang about for a bit longer," Arthur said, smiling innocently.

"Of course we don't," Gilbert replied, not giving Roderich a chance to respond. He grabbed Roderich's arm and tugged him up the stairs before pushing him into the nearest bedroom, one of the guest ones. "Get changed," he ordered before shutting the door. Roderich stood still for a moment, listening to Gilbert whisper excitedly to Arthur on the landing. How could he have been so stupid? Because agreeing to this humiliation was definitely the most idiotic thing he had ever done in his whole life. If there was a world record for the largest amount of stupid achieved in one night, then Roderich had not only beaten the former record holder, but had also robbed him, beaten him and left him sobbing in the street.

Numbly, Roderich tipped the contents of the bag onto the bed and sorted it out so that he could see what the outfit would look like. He stared. No maid in the history of – of _forever_ had ever been caught dead wearing a uniform like this, Roderich would bet his life on it. His heart plummeted even further into despair. What had he _done_?

On the other side of the door, Gilbert was fidgeting impatiently, wondering what was taking so long. He had been looking forward to this moment for such a long time and now it was taking all his willpower not to just fling open the door. If Roderich wasn't fully decent then, well, he would get over it. Hell, Gilbert would happily help him into his new uniform, although it was true that he would much rather help him _out_ of it.

"You _seriously_ want me to wear this?" asked Roderich weakly from the other side of the door.

"Do you have it on?" Gilbert demanded, his hand on the door handle.

"Yes, but –" Gilbert didn't bother to wait for the rest of the sentence and opened the door. Roderich flushed an even deeper red and looked down at the dress unhappily. It was made up of a white, short-sleeved blouse, the edges of the sleeves and the low cut neckline lightly frilled. Over this was a black dress, corseted with white lace over the torso and filling out into a rather poofy skirt with a small white apron at the front. The ends of the skirt were edged with white lace that ended about halfway down Roderich's thighs.

"Wow," Arthur said, looking impressed. "You know, you're not my type at all, but even I have to admit that you really suit that outfit. I mean, you _really_ suit it." Roderich stared at him in disbelief.

"No I don't, it looks awful," he protested. "I feel stupid. And –" he tugged desperately at the skirt in a hopeless attempt to make it longer, "-it's too short!" He looked up and warily gauged Gilbert's reaction. Surprisingly, the other nation hadn't tried anything inappropriate or even _said_ anything inappropriate…yet. Gilbert was standing in the doorway and staring at him with an expression of dazed bliss, as if all of his dreams had unexpectedly come true. It was kind of creepy. Roderich resumed his futile attempts to adjust the skirt to hide more of his thighs, unwittingly revealing more of them in the process.

"It's meant to be short," Arthur explained. "This is what we call a French maid uniform." Oh. Now it all made sense, if Francis was somehow connected. Arthur nudged Gilbert, who snapped out of his trance. "You did good." Roderich frowned.

"But aren't you the one who went out and bought this?" he asked Arthur.

"Yes, but I didn't choose it," the English nation replied. "I just picked it up from the shop."

"I ordered it," Gilbert chipped in, his voice sounding distant. "Two weeks ago." Roderich started.

"_Two weeks_?" he asked dangerously. "Then you – you _planned_ this whole thing?" Gilbert finally seemed to realise that he was, in fact, still awake, and that the scene in front of him wasn't going to dissolve into a dream. A huge grin appeared on his face.

"I'm a genius," he crowed. "Everything went just as I planned it. And now you're _mine_." That was going a bit far, Roderich felt.

"Only for a week," he reminded the other nation. "And not today. I'm taking this off."

"I'll help you," Gilbert immediately offered, advancing purposefully. Roderich hurriedly backed away.

"Well, that's my cue to leave," Arthur remarked with an amused tone, turning and heading for the stairs. "You two have fun, and remember to use protection!" He was like some embarrassing older relative, Roderich mused, but somewhat distractedly because he was concentrating most of his energy on wishing that a meteor would strike the house and put him out of his misery.

"We're not sleeping together!" he yelled after Arthur, trying to fend off Gilbert.

"Maybe not yet," Arthur's voice rang up from the hall, "but I bet you ten quid that you will be by the end of this week." The front door slammed before Roderich could protest, so he turned his attention back to escaping molestation.

"Will you stop that?" he snapped, trying to prise one of Gilbert's hands from where it had settled firmly on his behind. Gilbert smiled at him innocently.

"Sorry," he said, "my hand slipped." Roderich suddenly regretted throwing the water over him earlier. He hadn't realised that Gilbert might try to take revenge. With difficulty, he managed to disentangle himself from Gilbert's arms and pushed him backwards onto the landing.

"Stay here," he commanded, then shut the door on Gilbert's heartbroken expression, leaning on it in case the other nation hadn't given up. However, there were no attempts from outside to regain entry, so Roderich let himself relax and sigh heavily. Looking up, he caught sight of himself in the full length mirror on the other side of the room and shifted uncomfortably. He thought back to Arthur's bet and sighed again. Now he was probably going to owe money on top of all his other problems. Great. Because although he would never admit it, Roderich also thought that whatever there was between Gilbert and himself would come to a head sometime during the next week, for better or for worse. It was time to clear the tension in the air.

**Translations**

_Guten Morgen, mein Hübscher - _Good morning, beautiful (thanks to prussiablue from LJ for the German because I don't speak a word of it myself)

_A night out on the piss - _basically just a night out getting drunk

_Shagging - _having sex with

_Quid - _pound, as in English money

English slang has some very funny sounding words and phrases, don't you think?


	4. Chapter Three

**A/N - This is the first chapter that I wrote mainly on the computer, since usually I use a pen and paper for the first draft (I'm so old fashioned). I'm surprised that I didn't get distracted by anything! Also, I seem to have a thing for German pet names, so Gilbert uses a couple of them in this chapter. Thanks to prussiablue from LJ and her cousin for them! Translations are at the bottom of the page. Also, I've discovered that Gilbert-Arthur interactions are the most fun things to write ever. In my head canon they're totally BFFs XD And while Hungary doesn't usually interest me in the slightest, she was surprisingly fun to write too.**

It was day one of what Roderich was already thinking of as The Week From Hell, even though he hadn't even gotten dressed yet and so, in his opinion, the day had not officially started. Currently, he was standing in his pyjamas, staring helplessly at the outfit laid out on his bed and wondering why he was going to go through with this instead of doing the sensible thing and fleeing to some remote, unheard-of country until Gilbert had forgotten about the whole deal. Although, actually, he wouldn't put it past Gilbert to find some way of tracking him down and dragging him, kicking and screaming (though with dignity, naturally), back to Austria. Oh well. It had been a liberating fantasy while it had lasted.

"I can't believe you're making me do this," he said to Gilbert, who was already dressed and standing behind Roderich, wound around him in a way that Roderich had been unable to escape from and so was currently pointedly ignoring. "And I also can't believe that it only took you twenty minutes to destroy my kitchen," he added acidly. "That must be a new record for you." The day before, Gilbert had attempted to make, well, Roderich wasn't entirely sure what and he wasn't convinced that Gilbert did either, but he had tried to make _something_ and failed spectacularly. What he had ended up with was a big mess and a smashed mixing bowl. There was also the mystery of the spoon that had somehow been tied into a knot, although Gilbert couldn't explain or remember doing it. It was rather worrying.

"I was hungry," Gilbert protested, as if this was a reasonable defence.

"There was plenty of food in the cupboards that had already been made," Roderich countered irritably.

"Well cooking looks easy when you do it," Gilbert replied sulkily, although the effect of this was lost as he was currently resting his chin on Roderich's shoulder. The shorter nation sighed.

"It's going to take me forever to clean it all," he said, miserably turning his attention back to the uniform that lay innocently on the bed. Last night, Gilbert had rung the usual cleaning staff for Roderich's house and told them to take the week off. Even worse, he had told them that it would be paid leave. He probably found it funny that Roderich would have to pay them for doing nothing while he took over the chores. Roderich didn't find this amusing.

"If it's going to take you so long then why don't you stop moaning like a pansy and get dressed so that you can start?" Gilbert asked, clearly getting impatient. Roderich sighed again. It appeared that he could stall no longer.

"All right," he said resignedly. "I'll put it on, so will you please leave the room?" He had expected some resistance to this, but, surprisingly, Gilbert left without a fuss. Roderich took this as an ominous sign that Gilbert was going to enjoy seeing him dressed as a maid too much for comfort. Not that Roderich could ever be comfortable whilst wearing a dress.

When Roderich was once again wearing the uniform, which, against all logic, seemed to have gotten shorter since the day before, he hesitantly stepped out onto the landing where Gilbert was waiting eagerly. Roderich didn't think that he had ever felt as exposed as he did at that moment. At least yesterday he had been distracted by trying to fight off Gilbert's advances, but today the Prussian seemed to have finally looked up the word 'restraint' and managed to grasp its meaning because he wasn't making any attempts at molestation. Instead, he was letting his gaze roam appreciatively over the other nation's body in a slow, deliberate way that made Roderich's cheeks heat up and forced him to look away.

"If my outfit has your approval then can I go and start cleaning what remains of my kitchen?" he asked stiffly, fidgeting a little self-consciously.

"Sure," Gilbert replied distractedly. "Just as soon as I've finished fucking you with my eyes." Roderich snapped his head back round to stare at Gilbert, shocked by his crudeness.

"You-!" If there was a word insulting enough for what Roderich wanted to express, then he didn't know it. His mind seemed to be having a minor breakdown and, more worryingly, a hot and not unpleasant feeling had started burning in the pit of his stomach at Gilbert's words. Two crimson eyes flicked up to meet his and Gilbert grinned, although it was more of a leer.

"Do you like it when I talk dirty to you, _Süsser_?" he asked in a low voice that made Roderich shiver a little and then mentally curse himself as Gilbert noticed the reaction and adopted a victorious expression.

"No," Roderich lied firmly. "What I like is when you don't talk at all." He pushed past Gilbert to get to the stairs, not stopping when he was startled by a firm smack on his behind.

"A little less conversation, a little more action, huh?" the Prussia said gleefully. "You should have told me earlier – I would have woken you up in a much more _pleasurable_ way."

Roderich fought back another shiver and didn't rise to the bait as he descended to the ground floor of the house. In his opinion, Gilbert had already gone too far with the method he had used to wake him. It had been a sign of Gilbert's frightening levels of enthusiasm that he had managed to get up and dressed early enough that Roderich was still deeply asleep when Gilbert had crept into the room at eight o'clock. Roderich had woken to find a hand creeping up under his pyjama top and a mouth whispering lewd suggestions in his ear. As he was no longer suffering from a hangover, he had promptly pushed Gilbert off the bed before he had even woken up properly. It was an ingrained response that Gilbert hadn't appreciated, if the curses that had risen from the Prussian's landing place on the floor had been any indicator.

As Roderich entered the kitchen, he felt a tick start twitching in his eye at the sight of his usually pristine kitchen resembling the aftermath of a warzone. In fact, _warzones_ were probably cleaner than his kitchen was at the moment – after all, blood seeps quite neatly into the ground but there was _food_ on his beautifully tiled floor and Roderich just knew that it was going to stain. He had wanted to clean it all up immediately after discovering the mess the day before, but Gilbert had restrained him and said that he ought to wait until he was properly dressed for such un-aristocratic activities. Roderich had protested this and almost resorted to violence in his attempts to get into the kitchen, but Gilbert was bigger and stronger than him and hadn't had any problems in preventing any cleaning. In the end, Roderich had retreated to his piano and played with as much murderous intent as he could muster. It had been the most homicidal rendition of Fur Elise ever heard.

"Before you start," Gilbert was saying now, "I'm going to get myself some breakfast." He started to walk past Roderich, but was thwarted by a hand gripping the back of his shirt collar and yanking him backwards. He stumbled a little in surprise and turned to glare at Roderich, only to find that the other nation was already glaring at him with a ferocity that would have made a less awesome nation than himself tremble with fear.

"If you so much as _think_ about touching _anything_ in here, no one will ever hear from you again," he threatened. Gilbert was rather impressed with just how much he had managed to incense Roderich this time. His chest swelled with pride. He was, however, curious as to the specifics of what Roderich's anger would drive him to do.

"Why won't anyone hear from me again?" he asked.

"Because you'll be buried in my back garden after I bludgeon you to death with the fruit bowl," Roderich growled in response. For a split second, Gilbert thought about asking if there would still be fruit _in_ the bowl during the aforementioned bludgeoning, but decided that it wouldn't be a good idea to encourage Roderich to be too detailed in his murder plan. There was always the chance that he would find it so appealing that he would get carried away and the next thing you know there would be a suspiciously grave-shaped patch of freshly dug earth in the garden and Ludwig would be receiving a bill for a broken fruit bowl. It was better not to risk it. However, Gilbert _was _rather hungry.

"In that case, _you_ can get me breakfast," he said, smiling in the hopes that maybe his awesomeness would remove the scary expression from Roderich's face. It was starting to activate his fight or flight response and the great and mighty Gilbert couldn't be seen running in terror from a prissy aristocrat in a dress. He would never be taken seriously again.

"I should let you starve," Roderich snapped, but he crossed the room, carefully avoiding anything that he really didn't want to step in, and rummaged around in one of the cupboards. Eventually, he retrieved a packet of store-bought pastries and tossed them over to Gilbert, who caught them easily. "Try not to get crumbs everywhere, would you?" he added, but he no longer looked as thought he was about to commit terrible and, in Gilbert's opinion, totally unnecessary acts of violence. He didn't even say anything when Gilbert hoisted himself up to sit on the counter so that he could have a good view of his – _his!_ – maid while he ate.

Gilbert had never before considered that it would be anything but boring to watch somebody clean a room. Yet, watching Roderich, he was anything but bored. Roderich's expression smoothed out completed as he focused on the task at hand and his self-consciousness faded away, allowing Gilbert to stare openly. He was enthralled. Simple movements that he would have overlooked in anybody else at any other time were suddenly alluring, such as the way Roderich's hips moved almost hypnotically as he swept the floor, or the movement of the skirt, which lifted here and dipped there, revealing another inch of those smooth, beautiful thighs before swallowing them up again. Gilbert idly wondered if there was something wrong with him for finding this erotic, but his thoughts were interrupted as Roderich either forgot that Gilbert was behind him or didn't quite understand dresses, because he bent down to pick something up, the skirt rising dangerously high until it was just shy of revealing what colour underwear Roderich was wearing today. Gilbert stared, the pastry held in front of his half-open mouth completely forgotten. He was going to have a whole _week_ of moments like this, he realised, and wondered if it would be un-manly to cry tears of happiness.

Unfortunately, that was the moment when the doorbell rang. Roderich straightened up and turned towards the sound so fast that Gilbert was surprised he didn't get whiplash. The serenity caused by the mechanical actions of cleaning vanished and Roderich was looking panicked.

"Oh no," he said, biting his lip anxiously. He turned to Gilbert, who suddenly realised that there was still a pastry in front of his face and took a bite out of it. "Be quiet," Roderich ordered. "Maybe they'll go away." Gilbert nodded and chewed on the pastry as Roderich twisted his hands on the broom handle nervously. The doorbell rang again and Gilbert almost laughed at how frightened Roderich was at the possibility that someone might witness him dressed up sexily for Gilbert's personal pleasure. After all, they might get the right idea.

However, even Gilbert was surprised when he heard the door open and the uninvited guest step inside. It all made sense, though, when a familiar voice called out Roderich's name. Roderich paled even more, and this time Gilbert sympathised with him as his own blood ran slightly colder. It was Elizabeta.

"Go and get rid of her," Roderich hissed, gesturing frantically towards the kitchen door. Gilbert slid off the counter, leaving his half-eaten breakfast and acquiescing, if only because he was all too aware of what would happen if Elizabeta happened across this scene, and it was far too early in the morning to engage in an epic battle of the ages.

On entering the hallway, Gilbert managed to close the kitchen door enough so that neither Roderich nor the disaster area was visible. His footsteps alerted Elizabeta from where she had her back turned to him to close the front door securely, and she turned to him, looking disappointed to discover that he wasn't the person she was looking for.

"Oh, hello, Gilbert," she said in the same suspicious voice that she always used with him. "Where's Roderich?" Gilbert tried to school his expression into one of casual innocence. It wasn't a look that he was familiar with and so he wasn't entirely sure that he was pulling it off.

"He's not here right now," he said, supposing that he ought to act somewhat civil if he wanted her to leave any time soon. "He had to go out and visit, erm, Antonio, so I'm looking after the house while he's gone." Oh yes, Gilbert was a genius. Except…Elizabeta wasn't looking fooled by his amazing improvisational skills.

"That is the most blatant lie I have ever heard," she said, not looking impressed in the slightest.

"No it's not!" Gilbert snapped, his ego bruised by her seeing through him so easily. "The lie I told about Gilbird, the Eiffel Tower and your bra was way more blatant!" Elizabeta raised an eyebrow at him, and it slowly dawned on Gilbert that he had practically confessed that he wasn't quite telling the truth. "Fuck," he cursed. At that moment, a small noise drifted out from the kitchen and Elizabeta narrowed her eyes.

"I guess Roderich's come back from Spain," she said sarcastically, heading towards the room. Gilbert tried desperately to stop her, but his efforts were in vain. No mere unstoppable force or unmovable object could get in Elizabeta's way, and although Gilbert was clearly far superior to both of these options, he didn't stand a chance.

The kitchen door was flung open and Elizabeta stepped inside, only to freeze at the unexpected sight that met her eyes. Roderich stood in the centre of the room, caught like a deer in the headlights, an expression somewhere between shock, panic and despair on his features. No one moved for a moment, until Roderich fell back to deep-rooted survival techniques and raised a finger to point at Gilbert.

"It's all his fault," he accused, and Gilbert's mouth dropped open at the utter betrayal. Elizabeta turned very slowly, and Gilbert took an involuntary step back at the expression on her face. She looked as though she couldn't quite decide what would be more appropriate for the situation: a camera or a weapon of mass destruction.

"Roderich," she said, her voice slightly higher than usual. "Can I borrow your frying pan?" She had chosen the second option then. Before Roderich could reply, the phone started ringing out in the hallway and Gilbert seized his chance to escape. It wasn't as though he was _scared_ of Elizabeta, what a ludicrous idea, but frying pans _hurt_, damnit, and he wasn't the biggest fan of pain…unless it was happening to someone else, in which case it was hilarious.

"I'll get it," he volunteered hastily and ducked out into the hallway, slamming the door behind him. He grabbed the handset and pressed it to his ear. "Whoever this is, you're now officially my new best friend," he said. A familiar laugh came from the other end.

"You mean I wasn't already?" replied the mock offended tones of Arthur. Gilbert brightened up considerably.

"You've always been my best friend when I've had a few too many to drink," he said comfortingly. Arthur merely snorted in response.

"Thanks," he said sarcastically. "You're a mate, Gilbert."

"I love you too, honey," Gilbert replied, blowing a kiss down the phone before suddenly remembering that there was a woman in the house who had a history of trying to kill him. It was a sobering thought. "So what can I do for you today? Please don't tell me that you want to talk to Roderich. If I'm left alone with his psycho ex-wife, I think that bad things will happen. I mean, I don't _want_ to hurt her, but she may leave me no choice."

"Don't worry, she'll have probably knocked you out before you get a chance to fight back," Arthur said soothingly. Gilbert scowled at the phone, forgetting that the other nation couldn't see him. "Actually, I was calling to talk to you anyway," Arthur continued, and his tone changed into a more serious one. "I was wondering about how you were getting on with the maid costume and then I remembered something. Gilbert, you do realise that Francis knows about the bet, don't you?"

"Yeah, so?" Gilbert asked, not immediately picking up on what the problem was.

"Did you even listen to what I just said?" Arthur said in exasperation. "Let me spell it out for you. _Francis_ knows that _Roderich_ is going to be wearing a _French maid outfit_ for the next week. Can you honestly tell me that no part of that sentence sounds sinister to you?" Well, when it was put _that_ way, the problem was obvious.

"Don't worry, Francis won't get anywhere near my maid, never mind molesting him" Gilbert replied confidently and with a certain amount of innocence that must have set alarm bells ringing in Arthur's head because when he replied, he sounded highly suspicious.

"How can you be so sure?" he asked.

"Because _you're_ going to distract Francis for me." It was amazing, Gilbert thought. Just when he was sure that he had reached the pinnacle of his genius, he came up with another brilliant idea. His mental congratulations were cut off, however, when Arthur replied.

"Yeah, you wish," he said, and Gilbert stared at the phone in outrage. No one would defy his genius!

"I saved you from being taken home by Francis the other night when you were too smashed to know any better," he reminded Arthur. "You owe me!" A rush of static sounded in his ear as the other nation sighed in defeat.

"Well he did invite me to spend a week over at his place during the summer," Arthur said grudgingly. "I suppose I could take him up on it." Gilbert grinned victoriously.

"Good boy," he crowed. He almost _felt_ the glare through the phone.

"Good luck with Elizabeta," the English nation said sweetly, and hung up the phone before Gilbert could call him a bastard. What a nerve.

Unfortunately, this also left him with the dilemma of what he should do now that there was no valid reason for him to stay in the hall. He could have just stayed there talking to himself into the receiver, but that would be cowardly, and if there was one thing that Gilbert Beilschmidt was not, it was a coward. He was also not weak. Or lazy. Or any of those long words that Roderich used that he _knew_ were insults, even if he didn't quite understand what they meant. Or – but, well, OK, there were a lot of things that Gilbert Beilschmidt was not, but a coward was definitely one of them.

And so, in order to prove this fact to anyone who dared doubt him, he strode back into the kitchen, confidence rolling off him in waves. The other two occupants of the room didn't seem as impressed as they ought to have been, though, because instead of immediately falling at his feet and praising him, they merely spared him a glance and then proceeded to ignore him. Gilbert knew that he was pouting, but didn't care. He would have complained, but it didn't escape his attention that a rather large frying pan was sitting on the kitchen counter, quietly threatening. That traitor Roderich would _so_ be getting a spanking later.

"So you have to wear this for a whole week?" Elizabeta was asking faintly. Roderich must have told her the story while Gilbert was out of the room, no doubt placing all of the blame on him when it was actually – wait, actually, it _was_ all his fault. Gilbert grinned proudly, his resentment towards Roderich already forgotten in the face of his glorious achievement.

"Unfortunately," Roderich replied, glaring at Gilbert, who grinned even more.

"You know you love it really, _Herzblatt_**,"** he replied, advancing towards the shorter nation. "What could possibly be more enjoyable than serving me and catering to my every whim?" He trailed a hand down Roderich's side to rest on his hip, feeling the heat of Roderich's body beneath the smooth fabric of the dress. In response, Roderich grabbed his wrist and removed the unwanted hand.

"I can think of many activities that would be preferable," he snapped, and Gilbert nearly laughed.

"Wow, what a coincidence," he drawled, and let his eyes wander over the other's body. "So can I."

A gasp interrupted whatever retort Roderich was going to make, drawing their attention to where Elizabeta was leaning against the counter to support herself, her face flushed and her eyes wide. "I – I think I need to sit down," she said breathlessly, before sinking down to the kitchen floor. Gilbert was disappointed to see that she had sat on one of the spots that Roderich had already cleaned.

"Are you all right?" the Austrian asked worriedly, hurrying to crouch by her side.

"I think I'm in shock," Elizabeta replied weakly. She looked up at Gilbert, who hadn't moved. "I didn't think I'd ever see the day when Gilbert made a positive contribution to the world!" Roderich looked confused, but Gilbert burst out laughing. He should have known that she would be thanking him. After all, she was almost as much of a pervert as Francis, no matter how much she tried to deny it.

"You're welcome," he said graciously. "But you're also in the way. My sex slave is supposed to be cleaning." Roderich glared at him, not entirely realising that Gilbert had just gained Elizabeta's approval, but back on familiar ground with inappropriate comments.

"I'm _not_ your sex slave," he said acidly, helping Elizabeta to her feet. "Are you sure you're feeling all right?" he asked in concern. "Would you like a glass of water?" Steadying herself, Elizabeta shook her head.

"No, but I'll help you get rid of this mess if you like," she offered. Gilbert scowled.

"You're not allowed to help," he said firmly. Elizabeta reached casually towards the frying pan, causing Gilbert to hastily back away, but Roderich stopped her.

"Please, don't worry about it," he said. "I don't mind." Elizabeta cast a longing glance towards the frying pan before turning back to Roderich with a smile.

"In that case," she said cheerily, "would you mind if I stayed and supervised? Just to make sure that you aren't harassed too much." She sent an icy look at Gilbert, who ignored it. He wasn't fooled. He knew that she wanted to watch Roderich for the same reason as him.

"Now who's telling the blatant lies?" he muttered to her as he sat back on the kitchen counter. She blushed a little at being caught out and pulled herself up beside him.

Admiring Roderich's amazingly sexy legs and basking in his own superiority was a lot harder with Elizabeta there, Gilbert thought sulkily as Roderich continued to meticulously clean the floor and surfaces. Elizabeta was chatting cheerfully to her ex-husband, taking the occasional break to stare at him with wide eyes when his back was turned. She was stealing Gilbert's thunder, which was unacceptable. However, just at the moment when Gilbert was about to make a grab for the frying pan and turn the tables on her, Roderich's stomach rumbled rather loudly. He looked embarrassed and put a hand over the complaining area, as if he could quieten it that way.

"Maybe you should take a break and have something to eat," Elizabeta said, trying not to giggle.

"No, I'm fine," Roderich replied and turned back to sweeping. Gilbert frowned, suddenly remembering that while he had eaten earlier, Roderich hadn't had anything. What a fool! Did he not realise that breakfast was the most important meal of the day?

Roderich was about to regain cleaning when a pastry suddenly appeared in front of his nose. He turned to see Gilbert holding it, smirking at him in his usual way. It was one of the pastries that Roderich had given him for breakfast earlier that morning, and the smell of it was making Roderich's mouth water. He hadn't realised how hungry he was.

"Eat," Gilbert ordered. "I can't have you complaining that I don't treat you right."

"I said I was fine," Roderich protested, just because he was used to protesting against anything that Gilbert suggested. The pastry bumped against his lips.

"Bite," Gilbert commanded, and Roderich gave in and obeyed.

"Now chew," Gilbert continued, grinning that maddening grin, and Roderich glared at him.

"And swallow," the Prussian finished in an almost sing-song tone. Roderich did so.

"I know how to eat," he said, taking the pastry in his own hand.

"Well of course you do now that _I've_ taught you!" Gilbert replied, looking incredibly pleased with himself, as if he truly believed that Roderich would have starved to death if not for his instructions. He took a closer look at Roderich's face and tutted before brushing his thumb across the corner of the shorter nation's mouth. "You're not as good at it as me, though," he said. "I would never make such a mess." Roderich wondered whether he should point out that a crumb of pastry on his lip paled in comparison to the destruction Gilbert had wreaked on his kitchen, but Gilbert cut off his thoughts by leaning in closer to him and whispering in a seductive tone, "Maybe you should practice on my –"

There was a scraping sound as Elizabeta picked up the frying pan. Gilbert backed off a little and eyed it warily, but it didn't look as though she was going to use it for violence. She clutched it tightly to her chest as if for moral support, her face flushed, looking incredibly annoyed at herself for distracting them. "Carry on," she squeaked.

"Um," Gilbert said, looking at her questioningly. She raised the pan into a more threatening position.

"_Carry on_," she repeated more forcefully. Gilbert could barely believe it. Now he would be beaten up if he _didn't_ molest Roderich? Couldn't this girl make up her _mind_?

"Gladly," he replied, deciding to take advantage of it while it lasted, but Roderich had already moved out of his reach. He was leaning against the wall at the other side of the kitchen, eating the rest of the pastry, muscles slightly tensed in case he needed to make a quick escape. Gilbert considered his options and came to the conclusion that it wouldn't be worth trying anything while Elizabeta was still here. There was no way that Roderich would give in while she was watching, plus there was always the chance that the crazy woman would change her mind and attack him with the pan.

As if Elizabeta sensed his thoughts and realised that there wouldn't be anything more to see, she let herself down from the counter and sighed a little disappointedly. "Well I suppose I ought to be going," she said. "I've imposed on you enough for one day." Gilbert eyed her suspiciously, but Roderich seemed alarmed that he would be left alone with the Prussian again.

"You're not imposing at all," he said, a hint of pleading in his tone, but Elizabeta shook her head sadly.

"I have things to be doing at home," she replied. "I only came round for a quick chat because I hadn't seen you in so long." She walked over to Roderich and wrapped her arms around him in a hug that caused Gilbert to send his iciest glare at the back of her head. However, it was wasted on her because when she let go, she left the room without even a backwards glance at the blond nation. How rude!

"Don't look so disappointed," Gilbert snapped as Roderich's face fell at the sound of the front door closing. Roderich turned to look at him in surprise and Gilbert tried not to look jealous. He was way more awesome than Elizabeta, so how could Roderich possibly want her here when he had Gilbert? Roderich gave him a cool, appraising look for a moment before something that was almost a smile twitched at his lips and he made a shooing motion with his hand.

"Stay out of the way for five minutes and I'll be finished," he promised, and Gilbert obediently backed off because when someone who looks like the embodiment of a wet dream tells you to do something, you don't think twice.

The atmosphere felt a lot more relaxed, at least for Gilbert, during those last five minutes before, true to his word, Roderich leaned the broom against the counter and gave the kitchen a tired but satisfied look. It may have taken him a couple of hours, but now everything was in order again.

"Great!" Gilbert said happily. "Now I can try again!" Roderich's inner feeling of peace evaporated and he turned to stare at Gilbert as if the other nation had lost his mind. Which he must have done if he thought that Roderich was ever going to let him try to cook in his house again.

"No," Roderich snapped. "If you want to cook, go home and destroy your own kitchen." Gilbert had the nerve to look affronted.

"I don't _always_ make a mess," he argued. "I _can_ cook, just not your stupid Austrian sweets." Roderich looked at him in surprise.

"What exactly were you trying to make?" he asked, but Gilbert turned away, looking a little embarrassed.

"That's none of your business," he snapped. Roderich looked at him in exasperation for a moment before sighing and making a decision that he just _knew_ he was going to regret later.

"I suppose that if you _must_ make something, I could help you with it," he said grudgingly, and was shocked by the delighted expression that appeared on Gilbert's face. "But you're going to have to tell me _what_ we're making."

"That apple thing that you make a lot," Gilbert replied immediately and Roderich already regretted his offer. No wonder Gilbert hadn't been able to make it if he didn't even know what it was called, he thought.

"Apfel strudel," he said wearily and Gilbert nodded enthusiastically. "All right, let me find the ingredients." If another warzone was created, it would be Gilbert who would be cleaning it the second time, drunken deal or no drunken deal.

However, Gilbert was acting oddly well-behaved and he followed Roderich's instructions to the letter as he measured out the correct amounts of flour, salt, eggs and oil to make the pastry. Roderich felt himself relax slightly, although he eyed the mixture in the bowl carefully nonetheless.

"You're being too rough," he said as Gilbert mixed, reaching out to take the other's hand and guiding it in slower, careful circles. "If you're not gentle then you'll spill it everywhere again." He suddenly became aware of how close he was standing to the other nation, and how his skin was tingling where his hand was touching Gilbert's. He tried to move his hand away, but Gilbert grabbed it by the wrist. Roderich looked up in surprise, and knew that trouble was coming when he saw that predatory smirk on the other's face.

"You have batter on your hand," Gilbert purred, and without waiting for a response he licked – actually _licked_ – up from Roderich's wrist to the tip of his little finger, not breaking that far too intense eye contact at any point. Roderich felt himself blushing at the feel of the other's tongue on his skin, shivering a little and – was that a flash?

Gilbert let him go and spun around. Elizabeta was standing the doorway, lowering a camera from her face and practically trembling in excitement. Roderich stared in horror, but Gilbert growled in irritation and started towards her.

"You were supposed to _stay_ at home, you voyeur!" he snarled, making a snatch for the camera, but Elizabeta dodged.

"I'm sorry, Roderich!" she called back gleefully over her shoulder as she ran towards the front door. "But don't worry – it's for my personal collection!"

"Come back here!" Gilbert roared, giving chase. Roderich stood for a moment, trying to decide what to do, before giving up and raising a hand to massage his temple, leaning against the counter. He would leave it to Gilbert to try and retrieve the evidence, and if he failed then, well, the first aid kit was always well stocked in case of a situation like this and there would be other ways to destroy the picture. Until then, he might as well seize the opportunity to finish off the strudel before Gilbert returned because the mixture would spoil if he just left it here and it had been a while since he had been able to cook in peace. Well, peace that was occasionally interrupted by shouts from outside or Elizabeta's victorious cackle, but in Roderich's world, that was as close to silence as he ever got. Humming absentmindedly, he picked up the mixing bowl and ignored the sight of Elizabeta running past the kitchen window, Gilbert not far behind.

**Translations**

_Herzblatt_ - sweetheart

_Süsser_ - sweetie (Technically, it's written as Süßer but I've been told that a double s is also fine since the letter ß is a sharp s sound)

_Apfel strudel_ - apple strudel, which I totally didn't know was Austrian but apparantly it's a traditional Viennese sweet

Reviews are received with love


	5. Chapter Four

**A/N - YES! Finally, I can update! I tried to upload this last night, but FFN must have had some sort of problem because it was rejecting my document. I worked extra hard on editing this because I've noticed that there are often a lot of typos in my work, and since I made so many when I was first writing this (there were some hilarious confusions of Gilbert and Gilbird) I proofread it more carefully than normal, which I hope will make the reading experience better for you :) Anyway, here you go, enjoy it!**

Roderich wondered idly whether he should be worried that, right now, he was actually rather glad to be wearing a dress. He shifted the shears in his grasp and snipped through a couple more of the branches that were marring the smoothness of the hedge. The second day of The Week From Hell was unusually warm and promised that summer was just around the corner. Roderich was currently feeling guilty about enjoying how the cool breeze felt against his bare legs, although he supposed that he sort of made up for this by the way his whole body tensed in terror every time a particularly strong gust of wind blew, causing his skirt to flutter dangerously about his thighs. The possibility of it flying up wouldn't have scared him so much if he had been left alone to work in the garden, but Gilbert was also outside, sitting on the lawn behind him and possibly watching him, willing for the wind to blow harder, or possibly not. Not being able to see the other nation was making Roderich paranoid.

Taking a moment to give himself a rest from the monotonous afctivity of trimming the hedge, Roderich turned to steal a glance at the other nation. Gilbert was sitting on a blanket that had been spread out on the grass and appeared to be…having a tea party with his chick? Roderich stared openly as Gilbert poured some iced tea into a saucer and placed it in front of the little bird, who didn't seem to quite grasp the concept of tea and, instead of drinking it, hopped onto the saucer and paddled happily in the liquid. Roderich was _sure_ that the chick hadn't been there when he had given in to Gilbert's demands for food and drink and laid out a miniature picnic for him. That was the moment when Gilbert looked up and caught Roderich staring at him in bewilderment.

"Hey, stop slacking off!" he called over, clearly enjoying the power he had over Roderich. "I know it's hard for you to tear your eyes away from my stunning good looks, but –"

"Gilbert, when did you bring your pet onto my property?" Roderich interrupted. Gilbert looked offended.

"Gilbird isn't a _pet_," he corrected. "He's my _friend_. And I didn't bring him here – he came to find me because he missed me." Gilbird made a small cheeping noise and both nations turned to watch him splash about in his saucer for a moment.

"You gave him tea," Roderich observed dryly.

"Gilbird _likes_ tea," Gilbert explained. Roderich tried not to wince as drops of the beverage flecked onto the blanket.

"So he does," he agreed wearily. "Just not in the conventional way."

"He also likes your Apfelstrudel," Gilbert added as an afterthought. "But he says that it would have been way better if I'd made it." He turned to pout at Roderich, who was wondering whether to ask if Gilbert really believed that he could understand the chick. He decided not to. He was afraid that the answer might make him doubt Gilbert's sanity more than he already did.

It seemed that Gilbert was still sulking about his interrupted cooking lesson the day before. When he had finally given up – no, sorry, made a 'tactical retreat' – and left Elizabeta to gleefully escape with the camera still in her possession, he had been very upset to discover the strudel fully made and cooling on the kitchen counter. He had become so stroppy, in fact, that Roderich had made a fuss over the large, purple bruise on his arm in order to placate him. The story behind it seemed to involve a frying pan being used as a discus, although the mystery of how Elizabeta had acquired said pan had yet to be solved. Roderich was sure that it had still been in his kitchen when the other two were running around the garden, and yet somehow it had ended up lodged in his flower bed. He supposed he ought to be content to count his blessings that it hadn't damaged the tulips.

Sighing and ignoring the put-out expression on Gilbert's face, he turned back to the hedge and continued to slice through the offending branches. He had been working for a good amount of the afternoon by now and the hedge had nearly been tamed. There was, however, a problem that Roderich had noticed. How would he be able to -? At that moment, the strong gust of wind that Roderich had been dreading decided to initiate a surprise attack and he was forced to grab at his dress in a somewhat successful attempt to keep himself decent. He heard Gilbert let out a wolf whistle and turned to glare at him as the breeze died down, although he didn't let go of the skirt, just in case.

"I'm never going to forgive you for this," he said, but Gilbert just laughed in response.

"You don't have to," he replied. "Either way, I'm going to treasure the memories of this week for the rest of my life." His grin widened as Roderich nervously let go of the edge of the skirt. "Want me to come and hold that down for you?" he purred, which Roderich translated to 'want me to put my hand on your ass?'

"I'd prefer it if you didn't," he replied, threading a hint of 'or else' into his tone.

Thankfully, Gilbert seemed content to stay where he was, and so Roderich was able to work in peace for another twenty minutes or so, listening idly to the one-sided conversation that Gilbert was having with his chick. He seemed to assume that the bird agreed with everything he was saying, which rather eased Roderich's concerns for his mental health because _nobody_ could possibly find Gilbert's ideas reasonable, not even a bird. He supposed that it was just one of the other nation's many eccentricities.

_Snip._ Another branch fell to the ground and Roderich suddenly found that he now had no choice but to confront his problem, which was simply that the hedge was quite a bit taller than him. He raised himself onto his tiptoes and stretched his arms up, trying to reach the highest branches and praying that the wind would behave. The tips of the shears scraped uselessly at the bottom of the branch he was aiming for, and Roderich sighed in defeat and lowered himself down to stand at his usual height. There was no way he would be able to finish his task. A burst of laughter from behind him made him turn to see Gilbert watching Gilbird with amusement. The chick had slipped and fallen on the saucer and was now coated in the sticky tea, flapping its wings pathetically as it tried to get to its feet. Eventually Gilbert took pity on it and reached out to pull it upright, patting it on the head as if to try and console it after its embarrassing incident.

Looking up, Gilbert was surprised to see Roderich standing in front of him, empty-handed as he had left the shears at the foot of the hedge. Gilbert hadn't heard him approach, and looked past him to see if he had finished, but there was still a strip of untidy growths that ran along the top couple of inches of the hedge.

"I need your help," Roderich said, sounding as if it pained him to admit it. "I can't reach the last few branches." Gilbert raised an eyebrow.

"Don't you own a stepladder?" he asked. Roderich shook his head.

"The usual gardener is taller than me, and before you ask, _no_, I'm not going to stand on any sort of furniture. I don't want my chairs getting dirty." He sounded very firm on this point and so Gilbert didn't even bother trying to argue. Besides, this was a perfect situation to take advantage of and he would be a fool if he passed up this opportunity.

"OK, I'll do it for you," he said, and grinned as he noted Roderich's wary expression. "But only if you give me a kiss." Roderich looked halfway between exasperated and embarrassed.

"Can't you just do me this one favour without any strings attached?" he almost pleaded.

"Now why would I do that?" Gilbert asked, leaning back on his hands and stretching out his legs, making it clear that he wouldn't be doing anything unless Roderich agreed to his demands. He almost missed the glint in the other nation's eye at his words.

"Out of the goodness of your heart?" Roderich suggested, and Gilbert would have snorted at the ludicrousness of the words if he hadn't been so distracted by the change in the other nation's voice. It was softer and lower than normal, and it was making odd things happen in Gilbert's stomach. He watched wordlessly as Roderich slowly knelt and crawled towards him, never breaking the eye contact that had suddenly become far more intense.

"Please, Gilbert," Roderich said in that same sensual tone, drawing out Gilbert's name as if he didn't want it to part with his tongue. Gilbert unconsciously sat up straighter; his whole focus was now on Roderich and the rest of the world had become a dull, forgotten blur at the edge of his vision. He was incredibly aware that his heart was pounding against his ribcage and the smallest details of the scene were suddenly crystal clear to him: the almost-silent rustle of fabric as Roderich moved, the touch of the other nation's hand brushing against his thigh, and the exact shade of Roderich's imploring eyes. The focus of Gilbert's attention stopped in front of him, his head tilted up at an angle so that he could look Gilbert in the eye.

"Please help me," he pleaded softly, and Gilbert shivered as a hand ghosted up over his chest, barely touching him but leaving a trail of tingling heat in its wake until it stopped to hover over his heart. He tried to lean into the touch, but the hand moved with him, maintaining its tantalising yet frustrating distance from his body and allowing him to further lessen the close proximity between himself and the personification of all his most carnal desires. Roderich didn't back away but suddenly fingers were moulding themselves against Gilbert' chest and he was being gently but firmly pushed back a little.

"You won't take advantage of me, right?" Roderich asked, his eyes wide and filled with an innocent trust that struck something within Gilbert that overpowered his lust. Chivalry was a word that the Prussian was familiar with but had never bothered to put into practice, yet something about the note of pleading in Roderich's voice and the look in his eyes, which made Gilbert feel as if Roderich needed him and him alone, awakened instincts that usually lay dormant inside him. Perhaps the presence of a dress also helped, because there's nothing like a damsel in distress to activate the hero gene in a man. Either way, it was suddenly taking all of Gilbert's willpower to not just get up and finish the hedge, because he felt strangely as though he would be satisfied if all he got in return was a smile and a thank you. Thankfully, his stubborn streak was far too strong to be swayed (much) by Roderich's surprisingly effective manipulation techniques.

"No, I –" he tried to say, but Roderich's face fell into an expression of disappointment and he bit his lip in a way that shouldn't be _legal_, damnit! Gilbert closed his eyes to block out the sight that was close to making him feel guilty – _guilty_! _Him_! A small amount of horror broke through the haze of unselfish thoughts and spurred him on to continue: "I said a kiss and I'm not changing my mind!" There was silence for a moment and then Gilbert heard a sigh.

"Fine, you win," Roderich said grudgingly in his normal voice, and when Gilbert opened his eyes he saw that the other nation's expression had changed to one of defeat. "I _nearly_ did though." Gilbert felt a wave of relief sweep over him and he grinned triumphantly, regaining some of the self-control he had been so close to losing.

"No way! You'll never defeat the awesome me," he crowed. "_Nobody_ is greater than me when it comes to…uh…" He trailed off as Roderich slid one of his legs forward to press against Gilbert's thigh, angling his hips in a way that revealed a lot of bare skin underneath the skirt. He removed his glasses and let them fall onto the blanket beneath them as he slid his other hand up from its resting place on Gilbert's chest to curl around the back of his neck.

"Shut up," he murmured, and moved forward, angling his head to bring their mouths together. The first touch was barely a brush of Roderich's lips against his, yet the contact made Gilbert shiver delightedly. When Roderich pressed the tiniest bit harder again him, kissing him as gently and chastely as possible, it only served to make Gilbert want him even more. Reaching up a hand to cup the back of Roderich's head, Gilbert pressed more deeply into the kiss and was rewarded by Roderich parting his lips slightly, inviting Gilbert to invade his mouth. Gilbert happily obliged. The slick heat of Roderich's mouth was something that he had been craving, and now that he was no longer denied entrance, he greedily gave in to his desires, tugging at Roderich's hair to move his head farther back and eliciting a moan in the process. When Roderich finally pulled away, Gilbert took one look at his flushed face and tried to move in for another kiss, but a couple of fingers pressed against his lips, stopping him.

"Now you're being greedy," Roderich said a little breathlessly. "You asked for a kiss and I – ah…" His breath hitched as Gilbert sucked the fingers from his lips into his mouth, sliding his tongue along them, his gaze locked on Roderich's and his eyes full of promises. Roderich pulled his fingers free and sat back, hoping that putting some distance between them would slow down his furious pulse.

"D-Don't –" he tried, and barely had time to inwardly wince at the stutter before Gilbert was right there in front of him, a hand on his hip and a mouth by his ear.

"Let me make you beg me again," he breathed, "and this time I'll give you whatever you want." Despite the heat of the day, Roderich felt chills run through him and it was so tempting to just give in to what his body wanted, but it was only the second day of the week and he wasn't _that_ easy, damnit. Now it was Roderich's turn to muster all of the willpower he possessed and firmly push Gilbert away from him.

"In that case, go and trim my hedge," he ordered, trying to make his resolve sound stronger than it really was. Gilbert's expression became one of disbelief and disappointment.

"_Seriously_?" he asked, as if he hadn't even considered that Roderich might reject him. This annoyed the shorter nation a little, making it much easier to stand by his decision. "You know, you don't _have_ to play hard to get if you don't want to. I won't mind."

"The shears are over there," Roderich said pointedly, gesturing towards the hedge and picking up his glasses to place back on his nose. Gilbert sighed but didn't try to push things any further.

"Fine, fine," he said, getting to his feet. "I said I'd do it so I'll do it. You just sit your pretty little ass down there and try not to be too overwhelmed by my awesomeness." He flicked Mariazell lightly as he passed, and Roderich moved further onto the blanket, suddenly grateful for the rest after standing up for so long.

Before too long, the only sounds were the rustling of the plants in the light breeze and the snips of the shears cutting methodically through the branches at the top of the hedge. Roderich sipped from a cup of iced tea and couldn't help but take advantage of Gilbert's turned back to stare at the other nation's body. It was a very _nice_ body. Roderich could happily stare at it all day. He was distracted from it, however, as he felt a small tugging at his dress. Looking down, he found a tea-soaked Gilbird attempting to climb onto his lap. Roderich gently cupped the chick in his hands and picked it up. It nestled contentedly in his palms and cheeped softly. It was rather adorable, even though its feathers were sticky and starting to clump together a little.

"You need a bath," Roderich muttered to it and wondered whether talking to a bird made him just as crazy as he often suspected Gilbert to be. The chick ruffled its wings and tilted its head, eliciting a small smile from Roderich, which disappeared the next moment as a string of curses made him look up in surprise. Gilbert was no longer holding the shears and even from this distance, Roderich could see the bright red blood pooling in the palm of his hand. Without tearing his eyes from the other nation, he tipped Gilbird back onto the blanket and hurriedly moved to Gilbert's side.

"What did you do?" he asked worriedly, startling Gilbert a little as he took the injured hand and examined it.

"I dropped the shears and the fucking things _slashed_ me!" Gilbert replied, glaring at the object that had attacked him. He winced a little as Roderich wiped away some of the blood to try and gauge how deep the cut was. It looked shallow, but the sharp blade must have nicked a vein because there was a lot of blood seeping out of the wound.

"You'll live," Roderich diagnosed and tugged on Gilbert's arm to get him to move. "Come on, I'll put a bandage on it."

"Are you sure it doesn't need stitches?" Gilbert asked, letting Roderich lead him towards the house. "Those things were trying to kill me! I could bleed to death!" Roderich snorted.

"Don't be such a baby," he said, stepping out of the sunlight and into the house. "And try not to bleed on my carpet."

Ignoring Gilbert's grumbling, Roderich led the way to the bathroom that contained the first aid kit. He turned on one of the taps in the sink and held Gilbert's injured hand under it, rubbing the water up to the skin that the flow couldn't reach.

"Keep your hand there," he instructed, reaching up to the medical cabinet on the wall and retrieving a roll of bandages and a tube of antiseptic cream. Tearing off a length of the bandage, he turned off the tap and gently patted Gilbert's hand dry before applying the cream.

"That stings," Gilbert complained, twitching his fingers a little.

"I know," Roderich replied soothingly, "but it'll stop it from getting infected." He wrapped the bandage around Gilbert's hand a few times, careful not to make it too tight, before securing it in place. "There," he concluded. "Please try and be more careful in future. Sometimes I think that I spend half my life patching you up after you've hurt yourself." He looked up when Gilbert didn't reply and was startled to see that the other nation was watching him intensely, a serious expression on his face.

"It's still bleeding," Gilbert said. "I can feel it." Roderich was about to reply and point out that yes, of course it wouldn't heal instantly, but the injured hand was suddenly in front of his face. "Kiss it better?" Gilbert requested, smiling innocently. Roderich stared at him.

"What are you, a child?" he asked. "My kisses don't have magical properties."

"Anything that shuts me up has magical properties," Gilbert countered, grinning because he knew that there was no argument to that. Roderich sighed and pressed a gentle kiss to the bandaged palm.

"How's that?" he asked, a little self-conscious under Gilbert's unwavering gaze. The other nation seemed to take the question seriously and examined his hand before smiling at Roderich again, which struck the brunet as strange because it was a softer expression than the usual mischievous grins and leers that habitually adorned his features.

"It's stopped bleeding altogether," he proclaimed. "You've healed it." Roderich wondered if he had somehow fallen into an alternative universe. Gilbert was being _sweet_ to him. Gilbert was never sweet!

"That's impossible," he protested weakly because he didn't know how to deal with such an alien situation, although he couldn't deny that he liked this odd change in attitude.

A quiet cheeping from the doorway caused both nations to turn. Gilbird hopped into the room and onto Gilbert's shoe, fluttering its wings and pecking at the leather. Gilbert's face brightened into his usual grin.

"Gilbird!" he exclaimed, as if he hadn't seen the chick for years. He picked it up and watched happily as it started to make its way along his arm, not seeming to mind as its feet gripped at his bare skin for purchase. The sound of running water distracted him and he looked over to see that Roderich had plugged the sink and was filling it with warm water.

"What are you doing?" he asked in confusion. Roderich turned off the taps and plucked Gilbird from the other nation's arm, depositing him in the shallow bath he had created.

"Cleaning off the tea," he replied. "I'm sure he doesn't appreciate having sticky feathers." Gilbird clearly approved of the idea and was splashing about gleefully in the water as Roderich rubbed gently at its feathers.

"Don't blame me; _he's_ the one who used my generous offer of tea as a paddling pool," Gilbert replied. He watched as Roderich struggled to keep the chick still for long enough to properly clean it. "You like him, don't you?" he asked accusingly.

"He's certainly a lot less troublesome than you," Roderich responded. "Are you jealous?"

"Hell yes I'm jealous! You never give me baths!" Gilbert replied, pouting as he watched Gilbird. He blinked as a light spray of water hit him in the face and Roderich laughed at his stunned expression and flicked his wet fingers at the blond nation again.

"There you go, now stop complaining," he said, but Gilbert reached past him and dipped his own fingers in the water. "Don't you dare!" He grabbed Gilbert's wrist as the other nation struggled to break free and get his revenge.

"You sprayed me first!" Gilbert protested, but then Gilbird decided to join in and flapped its wings, showering both nations with a light spray of water, causing Roderich to let go and cup the overexcited bird in his hands to make it stop. He flinched as an unexpected flick of water hit him on the neck.

"Gotcha." Gilbert grinned victoriously. Roderich rolled his eyes.

"You're so childish," he said, but his lips were twitching as if he wanted to smile. Gilbert adorned an affronted expression.

"You started it!" he protested. Roderich didn't bother to argue back and lifted Gilbird out of the water, laying a towel out on the floor and kneeling to dry the chick.

"You don't have to finish trimming the hedge today if your hand still hurts," he spoke up suddenly, not pausing or looking up from his task. Gilbert flexed his fingers experimentally.

"It feels fine," he replied, which wasn't entirely true, but compared to some of the injuries he had sustained in the past, a minor cut like this was nothing. He reached down and plucked a clean and incredibly fluffy Gilbird from the towel and placed it on his shoulder, where it settled comfortably into its usual spot.

Outside in the sunlight, Roderich regained his seat on the blanket and Gilbert dropped the chick down next to him. It hopped onto Roderich's lap and Gilbert frowned at it.

"Hey, hands off my maid," he ordered, trying to push it back onto the ground, but Roderich knocked his hand away and pulled the small bird back to a more stable position on his thighs. Gilbert pouted. "You two are getting far too close," he said suspiciously, and suddenly thrust an accusing finger into Roderich's face. "Are you having an affair with Gilbird behind my back?" Roderich was torn between laughing at Gilbert's serious expression and calling the closest mental institute. Eventually, he decided to humour the other nation.

"What would you do if I was?" he asked, mock defiantly. Gilbert grinned.

"If that's the case then I'll be having roast chick for dinner tonight," he replied. Roderich hit him lightly.

"Gilbert! That's a horrible thing to say!" Gilbird seemed to agree with this and buried its face in Roderich's dress. Gilbert laughed and patted it on the head.

"I'm just kidding, idiot," he said to it. "But seriously: hands off." Roderich watched in exasperated amusement as he strode off towards the hedge. The chick fluttered about on his lap and Roderich reached absentmindedly to pet it, but it hopped back out of his reach and glanced round at Gilbert before looking up at Roderich again and cheeping nervously. Roderich stared at it. It couldn't possibly have understood Gilbert's words…could it?

"Don't worry, he won't mind," he murmured, reaching out again slowly, and this time the chick let him stroke its feathered head. "Gilbert would never hurt you," he continued, not sure whether the bird could understand him or not, but certain that, either way, it would never be able to repeat his words to anyone else. "Besides," – he glanced up at Gilbert, who was completing his task without any signs of pain – "he knows that, for this week at least, I don't belong to anyone but him."

**A/N - You see the rating? See how it's an M? ...look forward to the next chapter XD**


	6. Chapter Five

**A/N - Sorry I'm a day late again - this time it's all my fault. I've started school again and since this is my A level year I'm very busy. I'll try not to let updates slip too much though. Also, a couple of awesome people from LJ made fanart inspired by this fic! I'll put links in my profile - go check them out and shower the artists with love! Oh and to the people who thought that there would be sex in this chapter - tough! But hopefully there's something almost as good**

The third day of The Week From Hell was going to be a glorious day. It was going to be amazing, fantastic and brilliant. It was going to be the best day of the week. Roderich could hardly contain his glee as he stood in the hallway, a light breeze from the open front door ruffling the lace on his dress.

"I'll only be gone for a few hours," Gilbert was saying as he stood in the doorway. "If you suddenly find that you can't possibly carry on living without me, call Antonio's house. I don't think we'll be venturing out anywhere."

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind," Roderich responded dryly, inwardly thanking the Spanish nation for inviting Gilbert round to his house for the afternoon. He would have to find a way to show his gratitude without actually revealing what he was grateful _for_, because as far as he was aware, Antonio was oblivious to this whole escapade.

"Oh, and I want you to keep wearing the dress," Gilbert added sternly. "The deal is that you wear it for the whole week whether I'm here or not. If I come back and find you wearing one of your usual poncy outfits, I'm going to add a second week onto the deal as punishment." Roderich felt his good mood evaporate and he looked at Gilbert in unconcealed dismay. One of the main reasons for his joy at the other nation leaving him alone had been the thought of being able to wear normal clothes again.

"Why does it matter what I wear if you're not here to see it?" he asked rather irritably.

"Shouldn't you be happy that nobody's going to see you wear it?" Gilbert countered. "It's not like it'll be embarrassing for you if you're alone."

"In case you hadn't noticed, I'm not crossdressing for _fun_," Roderich pointed out icily "I would much prefer to wear my own clothes. This ridiculous outfit is very uncomfortable." Actually, that was a lie. The dress, although unfamiliar with its skirt and lace, didn't give Roderich any discomfort at all. However, he wasn't going to admit that. Gilbert could get idea that he liked it, and then he would be plunged into an even deeper level of Hell.

"In that case, I suppose I can let you take it off later when I come back. In fact, I'll even help you out of it." Gilbert leered and Roderich wondered whether the Prussian's ability to twist everything he said into an innuendo came from spending too much time with Francis or whether he had been born with it.

"Just leave," he said through gritted teeth. Gilbert laughed.

"I will," he promised. "Just one more thing and then I'll go." He beckoned Roderich forward and the shorter nation warily moved closer, knowing that it wasn't a good idea but desperate for Gilbert to leave him in peace. When he was stood in front of the other nation, Gilbert quickly bent to close the gap between them and placed a chaste kiss to his lips. Roderich lifted his arms instinctively to push him away, but the other nation was already out of the door, moving fast to escape any possible consequence for his action. "Try not to miss me too much!" he called back gleefully before moving out of Roderich's line of sight. Having lost his target, Roderich glared instead at the innocent scenery, a breath of wind making the plants appear to tremble under his gaze. He closed the door harder than was strictly necessary in the hope that Gilbert would hear it slam.

Leaning back against the door, Roderich sighed and considered his options. He could ignore Gilbert and dress in his usual attire for a couple of hours, changing back before the Prussian returned, or he could obey the orders he had been given. Roderich scowled at the thought. He wasn't used to being on the receiving end of orders, and the urge to rebel against them was rising within him. On the other hand, the thought of another week of being harassed as he was forced to wear such an inappropriate outfit was too much to bear, and it was entirely possible that Gilbert would return early or send someone to check on him in the hope that he would catch Roderich out. In the end, it all came down to whether a few hours of dressing normally were worth another week of humiliation. Roderich sighed. There was only one sensible choice.

Even the minor dampening of his joy caused by the continued wearing of the uniform wasn't enough to completely destroy his good mood, however, and Roderich allowed himself a small smile as he drank in the new atmosphere of the house. It was calm and peaceful and the only noise was the quiet ticking of the antique grandfather clock that stood in the hall. For the next few hours there would be no harassment, no lewd remarks, and no pair of intense red eyes watching his every movement with what Roderich thought was an almost unhealthy fascination. It was strangely elating. Roderich had never felt so _free_.

Taking advantage of the opportunity to get some chores out of the way, Roderich didn't waste time getting started. When Gilbert was around, even the simplest of tasks took twice as long as they should do, thanks to his interference, and Roderich was hoping to get everything done early enough that he would be able to rest that evening. The first thing he had to do was wash the dishes from their lunch, and then there were the many assorted cleaning activities that never seemed to end. He was starting to appreciate his normal cleaning staff much more than he had ever done before.

After most of these chores had been completed, Roderich ventured warily into the guest room that Gilbert had slept in for the past three nights in the same way that a soldier might enter No Man's Land. He was relieved to see that the room was still intact and that there weren't any gaping holes in the walls, which had half been what he was expecting. It was, however, obvious that Gilbert had been staying in the room as he seemed to have moulded it to reflect his personality. It was, simply put, chaos. In fact, it seemed to be a structured and almost artistic chaos that Gilbert had created purposefully, because nobody could possibly cover the entire floor with clothes after only two days, and Roderich was sure that some of the garments hadn't been worn at all and had merely been pulled from the wardrobe, crumpled, and arranged messily on the floor, the bed, and, interestingly, hanging from the curtain pole. The duvet lay half on the bed and half on the floor, the pillows poking out from underneath. Roderich wondered if Gilbert had perhaps been offended by the carpet somehow, because he seemed to be going to great measures to hide it from view.

As Roderich sorted through the clothes, trying to determine which needed washing and which could be hung neatly back in the wardrobe, he came across the t-shirt that Gilbert had worn to the bar on the night that they had all gone out drinking together. He shook it to try and rid it of some of the deeper creases, and the smell of the cigarette smoke that had lingered in the air of the bar reached him, and, under that, a smell that was purely Gilbert. Roderich had read books that described the scents of people as curious mixes of flowers, spices, fruit and all sorts of other unlikely things, and he knew that it was all absolute rubbish. The scent that he associated with Gilbert was faint on the t-shirt, smothered by the cigarettes and half washed away by the water he had poured over it, but it was recognisable as a heady, masculine scent that had no name and could only be defined by the feelings that it produced in Roderich. Right now, it was having the strange effect of making him almost wish that Gilbert hadn't gone out. But that was ridiculous. Roderich mentally shook himself and threw the t-shirt onto the pile of washing that was accumulating by the door, worrying vaguely about the domestic feeling that this was giving him.

When he was satisfied that the room was fit for a person to live in and the carpet was no longer being oppressed, Roderich decided that it was time to take a break. He could feel the call of his piano as it whispered sweet nothings to him from the floor below and before he knew it, it had seduced him into the room in which it stood. As he looked at it, Roderich got the strange sense that if it had been a person, it would have been making 'come hither' eyes at him. He wondered if Gilbert's constant presence was starting to affect his sanity, but then again he hadn't had a chance to play for several days so maybe he was merely suffering from withdrawal.

Halfway through Moonlight Sonata, his attention was drawn out of the haze that his thoughts became whenever he teased the notes of beautiful melodies from an instrument. He was vaguely aware of another presence in the room. This wasn't too unusual as Gilbert sometimes crept in when he was feeling too lazy to make a big entrance, but it had only been two hours since the Prussian had left, he couldn't possibly have already returned…Roderich's fingers slipped from the keys and left the notes to stutter and die as they were swallowed by the air. A sick feeling of dread had arisen in him. An unknown person was in the room, _witnessing him dressed as a maid._ Roderich tried to work up the courage to turn and see exactly who it was that he was going to have to bribe not to tell anybody about this, ever. The other person didn't wait for him, however, and an amused voice rang out from the other end of the room. It was a voice that turned Roderich's blood to ice.

"Please continue," came the lilting tones of Francis. "Don't let me interrupt." Roderich felt a cold shiver run down his spine as he slowly turned to see the other nation leaning elegantly against the wall.

"Can I help you?" he asked, standing and trying to inconspicuously tug the skirt down lower. His muscles were slightly tensed, in case he needed to run. Francis casually strolled towards him, being careful not to move too suddenly, as if Roderich was a frightened rabbit that he didn't want to scare away.

"Is Gilbert around?" Francis answered Roderich's question with one of his own. Roderich relaxed slightly. If the French nation was looking for Gilbert, he would leave as soon as he discovered that his friend wasn't in the building.

"He's spending the day at Antonio's house and he won't be back for another few hours. I'm sure they won't mind if you join them," he added, just in case Francis wasn't getting the hint. Francis beamed at him.

"I'm sure they wouldn't," he agreed, "but, as a matter of fact, it is _you_ that I came here to see." Roderich's hopes of escaping unmolested plummeted and vanished into a pit of despair.

"Then why were you looking for Gilbert?" he asked.

"I wasn't," Francis admitted. "I just wanted to make sure that we were alone." His eyes slid down Roderich's body to take in the whole effect of the dress and he smiled approvingly, as if he were surveying a fine piece of art instead of a person. Roderich's eyes flicked to the door and Francis' smile widened as he noticed. Unfortunately for Roderich, in order to reach the door he would have to first get past the French nation. They both knew that this was impossible. Francis had quick hands from centuries of sly gropes; it would be child's play for him to grab Roderich as he tried to escape. However, Roderich didn't even bother to try. He knew that he was trapped.

"If you don't mind, I'm busy today so I'd prefer it if you left," Roderich said, but there was a note of hopelessness in his voice. Francis started to advance towards him, slowly but purposefully, and Roderich tried to back away without showing too much of his alarm.

"I'm sure you can make time for me," Francis purred, a predatory gleam shining in his eyes. "Ah, forgive me, I have not yet told you how beautiful you look." Roderich's back hit the wall and instantly Francis was in front of him, running a hand down the dress until he was holding the edge of the skirt, idly stroking the fabric with his thumb. "It suits you," he said, and his voice had deepened with lust. Roderich knocked the hand away.

"Stop it, Francis," he ordered, trying to sound authoritative. If he had succeeded then Francis ignored it.

"But, _mon cher_, you are a _French_ maid, _non_?" he asked. "Surely this implies that you rightfully belong to me." Roderich would have protested that this logic didn't even make _sense_, but there was suddenly a mouth covering his and the Austrian abandoned that line of thought in order to put all his efforts into removing it. A hand slid smoothly up his thigh and Roderich was alarmed at how little his efforts of pushing Francis away were achieving. He had never before even considered that one day he might wish for Gilbert to unexpectedly barge in his home, but, right then, at the mercy of the biggest pervert in Europe, he had never wanted anything more.

***

Gilbert leaned back and took another draft of his beer. The warm, Spanish sun was making feel relaxed and sleepy. Or perhaps that was the alcohol. Either way, he felt that he could stay here, sat in Antonio's garden, forever. His host was sat opposite him, sipping occasionally from the glass of sangria that rested on the small table between them. At that moment, however, the other nation looked rather despondent, staring at an orange tree but not seeing any of the small, white blossoms that adorned it. Gilbert listened idly to the same old sorrows that he heard every time he visited his Spanish friend.

"Lovino didn't even come to Las Fallas this year," Antonio was saying at that moment, sounding so confused and depressed that even Gilbert felt a little sympathetic towards him. "He _always_ comes to Las Fallas. He gets scared that I'll accidentally burn down the whole of Valencia if he isn't there to supervise. The only reason he wouldn't come is because he's avoiding me." Gilbert swirled the beer in his glass reflectively and wondered why Antonio couldn't see the obvious solution to his problem.

"Just throw him down and sex him up," he advised bluntly. "It's obvious that he's into you, he's just being a pussy about it, and there's nothing like sex for an ice breaker." Antonio managed an amused smile at that.

"You're so crude," he scolded lightly. "Although I'm sure you don't mean half the things you say."

"I never give advice that I don't follow myself," Gilbert replied, shrugging. Antonio smiled rather slyly at him.

"Does that mean you've already slept with Roderich?" he asked mildly. Gilbert froze for a second and then glared at him.

"No," he admitted, and Antonio smirked. "But not for lack of trying!" he added defensively. The other nation merely raised an eyebrow. "Anyway, that's different," Gilbert snapped, folding his arms over his chest. Antonio sat forward and leaned his elbow on the table, looking interested.

"¿_Cómo_?" he asked mischievously. "How is it different?"

Gilbert was saved from floundering for words as a faint but insistent ringing floated out from the open door of the house. "Your phone's ringing," he said instead. Antonio shot him a look that meant 'this isn't over', but moved into the cooler air of the back room to take the call. Gilbert frowned to himself and wondered exactly what he had meant by claiming that Roderich was different from the other affairs he had had in the past. He honestly didn't know; all he knew was that he had meant it. He was spared from further reflection as Antonio called to him.

"Gilbert, it's for you." Well, Gilbert thought as he rose from his chair, that was unexpected.

"Who is it?" he asked as Antonio passed him the phone, but the Spanish nation just gestured for him to answer the call, so Gilbert curiously obeyed. "Hello?"

"You bloody _moron_," was the greeting he received in return. Gilbert laughed and leaned against the wall, grinning widely. Antonio walked over to the doorway and lounged against the frame, far enough away that it looked as though he was being polite and giving Gilbert his privacy, but close enough that he could eavesdrop.

"Hey Arthur," Gilbert said, winding the phone cord absentmindedly around his finger. "How's your holiday in France going?" He didn't even understand some of the words he got in response. "Wow, so bad that you had to invent _new_ curses for it? Don't you already have enough of those?"

"There will never be enough words that express my feelings for Francis," Arthur said darkly. "Guess where I am right now."

"Did you wake up in his bed with no idea how you got there and a sore ass?" Gilbert hazarded, still grinning.

"You're close, love, but no cigar," Arthur replied drily, clearly not finding the thought amusing in the slightest. "I am, however, handcuffed to the bedpost." Gilbert burst into laughter.

"So," he said in a mock seductive tone when he had calmed down, "what are you wearing?"

"Clothes, actually," Arthur responded, and Gilbert frowned, genuinely surprised. "Francis went out," the English nation added as an explanation, his dark tone making Gilbert a little uneasy.

"What could he possibly have to do that's more important than molesting you?" he asked.

"Molesting someone else," Arthur replied, "which brings me back to why you're a bloody moron. You left Roderich alone, you twat! Didn't you ever think that maybe Antonio had invited Francis round to his as well? That wine bastard knows that you're going to be out all afternoon." Gilbert felt himself pale a little, and he gritted his teeth against the anger that was building inside him at both the French nation and himself for his own stupidity. He knew that if he was in any sort of actual relationship with Roderich, Francis wouldn't touch him, but technically they weren't anything at all, and so Francis wouldn't have any qualms about trying to seduce him. Usually, Gilbert was also a firm believer in the view that if someone was single, it was fair for anyone to have a crack at them, but as he had said earlier to Antonio, Roderich was _different_.

"Oh _Scheisse_," he swore.

"I'd say I told you so, but I'm rather hoping that you'll come and rescue me as soon as you're done saving your boyfriend," Arthur added. "I have an ominous feeling that I'm being saved for later." Gilbert nodded vaguely, forgetting in his urgency that Arthur couldn't see him.

"Right, OK, I'll do that," he said distractedly. "I've got to go." He hung up the phone without even waiting for an answer.

"Is everything all right?" Antonio asked, not even trying to pretend that he hadn't been listening in on Gilbert's side of the conversation.

"I have to go back to Roderich's," Gilbert replied, walking quickly through the house towards the front, knowing that Antonio would follow him. "Oh, and can you do me a favour? Nip over to Francis' house and liberate Arthur from a pair of handcuffs, will you?" Antonio didn't show any surprise at the request, which wasn't really all that unusual, but he was worried about Gilbert's clear frustration.

"I will, but what exactly is going _on_, Gilbert?" he asked. The other nation threw open the front door and stepped out, not pausing but calling back over his shoulder to Antonio as he broke into a run.

"I don't have time to explain. Ask Arthur." And he was gone, leaving a bewildered Antonio to lock up the house, wondering what Francis had done this time and if he was going to survive the consequences when Gilbert caught up with him.

***

"I said let me go, you pervert!" Roderich strained his arms, which were pinned to the wall above his head by one of Francis' hands. The French nation had a surprisingly strong grip and it didn't seem like he would be letting go any time soon.

"Don't be so difficult, _mon cher_," Francis replied into Roderich's neck, which he was currently showering with his affection. "A few kisses here and a touch there will not hurt you." Roderich twisted in his grip, trying to break free. This was ridiculous. It seemed that Francis' strength, when confronted with a victim that he couldn't resist, became ten times what it usually was.

"Didn't anyone ever teach you that when someone says no, it means _fuck off_?" Roderich snarled, starting to lose his temper because he didn't like being helpless and he _definitely_ didn't like being molested. Not by Francis, anyway. It was different to the way he didn't like being molested by Gilbert, where he said no but actually meant 'well, OK, go on then, if you must'. No, when it was Francis, he would happily kick the other nation in the vital regions, except that, unfortunately, Francis seemed to sense this desire and was standing at an angle that made this mode of attack impossible. It was very inconsiderate of him, Roderich thought.

"Oh my, what strong language," Francis said, sounding amused at how flustered Roderich was becoming, his tone irritating the Austrian even more. He raised his head to look Roderich in the eye, smirking a little as the other nation glared up at him. "You have so much fire burning in your eyes," he commented, stroking lightly over Roderich's cheek. "That's good. It shows that you have passion in your soul; a quality I require in all of my lovers."

"Too bad he's not your lover," a voice growled, startling both nations. "Let go of him, Francis." Roderich looked over Francis' shoulder and saw that Gilbert had entered the room without either of them noticing. He didn't look happy. Francis tutted at him.

"Now, now, no one will want to play with you if you don't learn to share," he lectured in a light-hearted voice, unconcerned, if a little disappointed, that he had been interrupted. He stepped quickly away from Roderich, however, when Gilbert moved forward, the expression on his face a clear indicator that he would not be above using force to remove the French nation if necessary. Roderich lowered his hands and stepped away from the wall, retreating towards Gilbert. His anger evaporated into relief.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Gilbert asked, his narrowed eyes never leaving Francis. The French nation smiled innocently.

"I was merely keeping your beautiful friend company," Francis replied, adding a slight emphasis to the word 'friend'. "That isn't a crime." Roderich suddenly became aware of the heavy tension filling the room. He could practically smell the testosterone in the air as the two blond nations tried to stare each other down. He hoped that it wouldn't end in violence, because that was the kind of stupid, unnecessary thing that Gilbert would do, and they were in Roderich's _house_, things could get _broken_…

A piercing whistle made all three nations jump and turn, startled, towards the door. Arthur lowered his fingers from his mouth and put his hands on his hips. "All right, time out," he said in his best no-nonsense voice. Antonio stepped into the room behind him and, either ignoring or totally missing the atmosphere, bounded over to Roderich and started fussing over how cute he looked in a dress, as if it were perfectly normal to find his friends crossdressing. This managed to dispel most of the animosity in the air, and Gilbert shot one final glare at Francis before averting his eyes, a sour look still on his face. Francis, however, lit up at Arthur's presence in the room.

"You just couldn't stay away from me, could you?" he asked delightedly. "I am so sorry if I made you jealous, _mon amour_, but you know that my heart belongs only to you."

"I don't want it," Arthur replied flatly. "And I've confiscated your handcuffs." Francis shrugged, brushing off the rejection easily.

"I have more," he said, smiling at Arthur in a way that made the English nation repress a shudder and turn away.

"Don't worry," he said to Gilbert consolingly, "I'll give him such a bollocking that he won't dare step foot into Austria for at least a month. Antonio!" The Spanish nation looked up from where he was examining the dress closely enough to make Roderich blush and try to shoo him away. "We're leaving."

"Thanks," Gilbert muttered, and Arthur nodded at him as he herded Francis and Antonio out of the room.

"Any time, mate," he said, "but you owe me big time." When he wanted to, Arthur could make his personality larger than life, Roderich mused as he listened to the front door slam. It was probably a trait left over from his days as the British Empire. Either way, it certainly had its uses.

"What did he do to you?" Gilbert asked suddenly, and Roderich turned to see that the Prussian still looked rather annoyed. Roderich wasn't entirely sure why, though, because really _he_, as the victim, should be the one who was angry, not Gilbert.

"Nothing really," he replied, and suddenly felt gratitude wash through him as he realised that if Gilbert hadn't turned up, he might have been molested much more. He moved closer to stand in front of Gilbert and let a genuine smile grace his features, something that he didn't often show to the Prussian. "Thank you," he said, and Gilbert's expression lightened a little. "I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't come back. I appreciate –" Gilbert cut him off by gently but firmly taking hold of his chin and tilting it so that their eyes locked.

"I'm sure you do," he said, and there was a note of possessiveness in his voice, "but how about you show your appreciation through a _real_ thank you." He brushed his thumb lightly over Roderich's lips, his gaze intense. Roderich shivered a little at the suggestion, finally realising why Gilbert had been so angry at Francis. He was _jealous_. Which was stupid, because Francis wasn't Roderich's type in the slightest. He had a _beard_ for God's sake. It seemed that Roderich had no choice but to show Gilbert exactly how stupid he was being.

"If that's what you want," he said, and he leaned forwards to press his lips against Gilbert's in a firm kiss. Gilbert was a little taken aback by the action, not having expected Roderich to acquiesce so easily, but his mind went blissfully blank as the other nation caught his bottom lip in his mouth, dragging his teeth over it and nipping it at the edge, causing a small shock of pain that succeeded in turning Gilbert on far more than it should have. When Roderich pulled away, he leaned in, greedy for more, but Roderich pressed his hands firmly against Gilbert's chest, stopping him. Gilbert was about to complain, but Roderich suddenly pushed him hard enough that he had to take a couple of steps back, and the back of his knees hit something hard. He half sat, half fell onto the piano stool, although he barely had time to register this before one of Roderich's legs was kneeling on his thigh and an arm leant past him on his other side to lean against the piano, effectively trapping him. Not that he was complaining.

And then Roderich's lips were on his again, harder and more forceful than before, teasing his mouth open to deepen the kiss and slide his tongue skilfully along Gilbert's, first lightly and then firmly, advancing and then retreating like some kind of maddeningly addictive dance. Gilbert reached out blindly and found Roderich's thigh, slowly sliding his hand up under the dress and feeling the smooth, warm skin until Roderich firmly grabbed his wrist and, without breaking the kiss, moved it back until Gilbert's arm collided with the piano keys. The loud medley of notes startled the Prussian a little, and he tried to move his arm away, but Roderich kept his grip firm, pinning it down with a dominance that Gilbert had never seen in him before…and he would be lying if he said he didn't like it.

When Roderich finally pulled away, both nations were slightly breathless and flushed. Roderich finally removed his hand from pinning Gilbert's arm so that he cold take off his glasses and reach to deposit them on top of the piano. Without them, his face looked more open, more enticing, and more fuckable, Gilbert thought.

"You're getting serious," he observed. Roderich smirked in response and trailed his hand down Gilbert's chest, tracing the shape of the other's body with his fingers until he reached the waistline of Gilbert's trousers, pausing to stroke along the skin there teasingly before slipping down between his thighs to where Gilbert wanted him most. Several notes rang out from the piano as Gilbert involuntarily twitched his fingers.

"I'm always serious," Roderich purred, delighting in the gasp that escaped Gilbert's lips at his touch. The blond nation spread his legs further apart in wordless encouragement, and Roderich rewarded the gesture by firmly stroking the hard length that he could feel through the denim. Gilbert's eyes clouded with pleasure as the pressure of Roderich's strokes increased and the brunet's lips found his pulse point, sucking lightly on the skin. Gilbert reached out with the hand that wasn't gripping the piano and slid it down Roderich's hip and onto his ass, squeezing it firmly and receiving a more vigorous kiss on his neck in return.

Suddenly, Gilbert felt a slight release of pressure from his jeans and realised with a shiver that Roderich had unfastened the button. Roderich's teeth grazed lightly over his throat as the slow, deliberate sound of his fly being unzipped reached his ears. A wordless sound of pleasure fell from his lips as Roderich slipped a hand inside his boxers and let it slide gently and teasingly along the full length of his cock. Gilbert moved his hand from Roderich's ass to grip in his hair, pulling the other nation's head sharply up and eliciting a small gasp from Roderich before he crushed their lips together desperately and forcefully. He moaned into Roderich's mouth as the hand around his cock tightened and started to move rhythmically, causing sparks of pleasure to flare and burst behind his eyes like stars, the white-hot heat of them so intense that it flooded his body and melted him into a molten rush of sensations. Roderich pulled back from the kiss and looked at him, his eyes dark with lust and his lips parted alluringly and irresistibly.

"Suck me off," Gilbert gasped breathlessly. Roderich flicked his tongue out over his bottom lip, looking sexier than Gilbert had ever thought possible.

"It's the duty of a maid to do whatever his master tells him," he breathed huskily, and Gilbert wondered through the pleasant haze of his mind why those words alone hadn't been enough to finish him right there and then.

As Roderich moved to kneel between Gilbert's thighs, he kept their gazes locked; his intense amethyst eyes never flickering as he slowly grazed his tongue up the underside of Gilbert's cock and softly kissed the head. Gilbert let his head fall back as Roderich took him into his mouth, the slick heat overloading his senses.

"F-fuck," he gasped, instinctively bucking his hips and running his hand along the piano keys, barely hearing the scale of notes that rose sweetly into the air and lingered there. "Oh _God_." Roderich caught him by the hips to keep him still and in return Gilbert tangled his hand in the other nation's hair so that he could feel as well as see the way that Roderich's head bobbed up and down between his thighs, pleasuring him with the pressure of his lips and the strokes of his tongue that were first soft and gentle, then firmer and rough. Each time that skilled mouth slid down his length, Gilbert felt himself being swept nearer and nearer to the overwhelming bliss of orgasm. His breath was coming in shallow pants and deep wordless moans, and it hitched as Roderich drew back and breathed on the damp, sensitive skin before kissing his way back up from the shaft and swirling his tongue around the head. Gilbert's pleasure spiked and he pulled lightly but desperately at Roderich's hair, trying to form the words to warn him.

"Roderich," he managed to moan, "I – ah!" The rest of his sentence was swallowed by a gasp, but Roderich must have understood because he let Gilbert tug his head back, reaching up a hand instead to finish him off. It only took three rapid strokes to tip Gilbert over the edge and into the blinding oblivion beyond; his whole body caught in the spasm of his hips and the explosion of ecstasy that raced through his blood and escaped him in a wordless cry.

As the last waves of pleasure faded, leaving him spent and sated, he was vaguely aware of Roderich standing and stepping back. A sigh broke through his daze, followed by words spoken in a calm, level voice.

"You just can't help but make a mess, can you?" Roderich asked, and Gilbert opened his eyes to see the brunet looking at him mildly and touching a finger to his cheek, which was splattered with something sticky and – Gilbert's thoughts derailed as his brain caught up with his eyes and realised what he was seeing.

"I'd apologise," he managed to say in a voice that wasn't quite normal, "but that's fucking hot." Roderich's lip twitched in a small smirk and he casually stroked his finger down his cheek before slowly licking the digit and sucking it into his mouth to clean it of the remaining stickiness. Gilbert stared, his mind wiped blissfully blank. Roderich smiled coyly at him and located a box of tissues on a coffee table, using one to wipe his face clean.

"Why don't you act this sexy all the time?" Gilbert asked weakly as Roderich leaned past him to collect his glasses and place them back on his nose.

"Because then it wouldn't leave you speechless every time I did," he replied, "and there are so few things that keep you quiet that I have to make sure to preserve the methods that work. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a small problem of my own to take care of." Gilbert lowered his eyes and saw that yes, there was a rather obvious problem creating a bulge under the aproned skirt of Roderich's dress.

"I'll help you," he offered, but Roderich shook his head and headed towards the door.

"I can manage," he said over his shoulder. "Clean yourself up while I'm gone. But if it makes you feel any better, I'll be thinking of you." He flashed another uncharacteristically flirtatious smile at Gilbert as he left the room, and, well, what was there to say to that?

And so, once again, Gilbert Beilschmidt was left utterly and absolutely speechless.

**Translations and explanations**

_Las Fallas_ - a Spanish festival held in Valencia and celebrated from the 13th to the 19th of March where statues are built during the year and burnt in the streets on the last night of the festival

_¿Cómo?_ - Spanish for 'how?'

_You're close, love, but no cigar_ - In England, the pet name 'love' can be used for absolutely anyone, it's in no way intimate. You could call a total stranger 'love' and they would find it normal. However, a man using it on another man makes him sound a little metrosexual or gay, so it amused me to let Arthur use it XD

_Scheisse_ - German for 'shit'. Actually written as Scheiße

_Mon cher_ - French for 'my dear'

_Mon amour_ - French for 'my love'


	7. Chapter Six

**A/N - I'm so sorry that I didn't update last week! I've started back at school now so updates might be a little more erratic than usual, although I'll try not to go so long without posting anything again. I was so uninspired for this chapter it was unbelievable! But the good news is that not only is the next chapter now here, but someone else drew fanart! The awesome xEmmie-kinZx drew an amazing picture that I've linked on my bio. Go see it. Because you know you need to see Maid!Austria on a leash. Oh yes~ And I was sad to discover that Liechtenstein doesn't have an official Hetalia name, but since a lot of fans call her 'Lily', I decided to jump on the bandwagon and used that as her name**

**  
**"_No_, Gilbert," Roderich said firmly, not even looking up from the sideboard he was dusting.

"Please?" Gilbert implored from where he was lying on the sofa on his stomach, his head resting on his arms and his legs bent at the knee so that his bare feet rested against the back of the couch. "If you're worried about how much housework you have, I can make it quick. I'm sure you can spare a twenty minute break."

"If that's how incompetent you are then _definitely_ not," Roderich replied drily. "You're not very skilled at persuading people to have sex with you, you know."

Gilbert's new passive aggressive harassment technique was starting to become annoying, he considered as he carefully wiped the dust from several small but expensive ornaments. For the whole morning, their dialogue had been variations of their current conversation, yet, oddly enough, Roderich had not yet been forced to fight off any physical advances. After yesterday, Gilbert seemed intent on pursuing whatever trigger he had unknowingly activated the day before that had resulted in Roderich coming onto _him_ for a change. Now he was treating Roderich like some sort of scientific experiment. The sort of experiment where the test tubes are put to unconventional and _pleasurable_ new uses. Strictly for scientific purposes, of course.

"I don't get how your mind works," Gilbert was grumbling now. "Yesterday you were in dominatrix mode and now you're being a total prude. What's _up_ with that?" Roderich was almost stupid enough to question Gilbert's usage of 'dominatrix', but then he remembered what he was wearing and wisely decided to keep quiet.

Gilbert's question wasn't worth answering either, Roderich thought, and not least because 'what's up with that?' ranked rather low on Roderich's scale of intelligent queries. A sex-obsessed idiot like Gilbert couldn't possibly understand Roderich's psychology, even if it was explained to him using diagrams and a colour-coded user's manual. Roderich's view of sex was simply this: there is a time and a place. Just because he didn't flaunt his sexuality like Gilbert and Francis didn't mean that he was a blushing virgin. With the amount of marriages and non-martial relationships he had been involved in over the centuries, was it really surprising that he had some experience, some _expertise_ even, in the bedroom department? However, just because he had developed a persona for sex that could achieve world domination if used rightly (as a former lover of his had once told him in the breathless tones of one who doesn't quite know what has hit them), that didn't mean that he _should_. It wouldn't be _proper_. It wouldn't be _decent_. There's a time and a place for seduction, and there's a time and a place for restraint. Roderich knew for a fact that he wasn't the only one who thought this way; he had heard things about Arthur (from Francis, naturally) that he had at first refused to believe, albeit only partly because Arthur generally came across as sensible and slightly reserved. A curious experiment, however, had proved that the position Francis had described in unwanted detail _was_ physically possible, providing that both people involved were very flexible.

"Hey, I'm _talking_ to you!" Gilbert interrupted Roderich's thoughts irritably as he realised he was being ignored. "Why are you acting like there's a bigger stick up your ass than usual today?" This time Roderich answered him quickly in order to prevent the obvious follow-up innuendo from passing Gilbert's lips. He was starting to get better at spotting them.

"I have work to do," he replied coldly. "Stop bothering me."

"You're so boring," Gilbert groaned, but he lay silently for a couple of moments before asking, "What time is it?"

"There's a clock on the wall," Roderich pointed out. "Or have you not yet learnt to tell the time for yourself?"

"It's ten to three," Gilbert replied defiantly. Roderich made a show of glancing over at the clock. "Hey! You don't need to check!" Gilbert protested, pouting sulkily. "Just hurry up and finish what you're doing." Something about the way he had spoken, combined with another impatient glance at the clock, made Roderich suspicious.

"Why, what are you planning?" he asked, and his suspicions only deepened at the wide-eyed, innocent 'who, me?' expression that appeared on Gilbert's face.

"Nothing," he said in a tone that Roderich identified as a blatant lie. He kept a close eye on the other nation after that, noticing how Gilbert glanced at the clock more and more frequently as the time approached three o'clock. When the hour struck, he started to tap a finger impatiently on the couch. He was obviously waiting for something, and Roderich didn't dare consider what it might be.

Unfortunately, at two minutes past three, he no longer had the choice of staying ignorant. Roderich froze as the doorbell rang, an ominous sound when he was dressed as a maid. Gilbert had no such fears, however, and he sprang to his feet eagerly, saying "I'll get it!" He was ambushed on his way to answer the door, however, by Roderich grabbing at his arm, his shirt, anything to restrain him.

"You invited somebody _over_?" Roderich asked, looking so betrayed and distressed that Gilbert almost felt guilty for a moment. He lay his hands over Roderich's which were clenched so tightly in his t-shirt that the shorter nation's knuckles had turned white, and stroked his thumbs over them soothingly.

"It's for a good cause," he tried to reassure Roderich. "Trust me." If Roderich hadn't been so terrified of being exposed, he would have laughed at Gilbert's words. However, right now he really _wanted_ to trust that Gilbert wasn't doing this merely to humiliate him. Grudgingly, he let Gilbert pry his hands from the blond nation's t-shirt and didn't even protest as a small, soft kiss was placed on his temple. "Trust me," Gilbert repeated, and as he left the room to answer a second chime of the doorbell, Roderich found that, inexplicably, he did.

As Roderich tried in vain to identify the quiet voices that started conversing in the hall, he looked down at the dress in despair and wished that he could rewind time and prevent the stupid deal from ever being made. He drew a little comfort from the fact that it was now the fourth day of The Week From Hell, and therefore over halfway through this ordeal. He just hoped that after all this was over, he wouldn't be the laughing stock of the rest of the world.

"Hey, Roderich," Gilbert said, grabbing Roderich's attention as he stepped back into the room. "We have guests." Two other nations followed him through the doorway and Roderich wondered why he couldn't just die right then and there and get it over with. It couldn't be any worse than the looks he was receiving now from Vash and, even worse, Lily, as they stared at him openly in shock. Vash's mouth was hanging open a little and he looked very flustered. He wrenched his gaze away and turned to Gilbert.

"So you weren't lying," he said weakly. "You're a sick, sick bastard, do you know that?" Gilbert beamed.

"Thank you," he replied, genuinely taking it as a compliment. Roderich shifted uneasily. He wanted to demand an explanation as to why Gilbert had brought these two here, but his throat seemed to be clogged up with nerves. Maybe it was some sort of self-defence mechanism and his subconscious was reasoning that if he stayed silent, maybe he would fade into the background until nobody could see him anymore. It was a comforting idea. His relationship with Vash was awkward and strained enough as it was; he didn't need his former childhood friend getting the wrong impression about his private life as well! And Lily was still just a pure-minded child, she shouldn't be witnessing the product of Gilbert's perverted mind.

"Why…?" he managed to ask before his vocal chords went back on strike.

"_Well_," Gilbert said in the tones of one who's about to tell a long story, "remember that photograph that Elizabeta took the other day to add to her perverted stash? I figured that you wouldn't want her to have evidence of you looking sexy – more sexy than normal, that is – and since I went easy on her when I tried to get it back since I'm such a nice guy, she got away with it. So I thought I should call in some help who wouldn't have any moral objections to using violence." He looked hopefully at Roderich, reminding the brunet vaguely of a puppy who has brought the newspaper, utterly destroying it with drool and teeth in the process, but still expects a pat on the head and maybe a 'good boy' thrown in its general direction.

"Um," Roderich said. "Thank you?" Gilbert wagged his metaphorical tail.

"I explained about the dress," the Prussian added. "I thought that it might throw a spanner in the works of my brilliant plan if the help had heart attacks and died."

"I had hoped you were joking about it," Vash admitted, starting to get over his shock, although he was eying the dress warily, as if he thought that it might suddenly attack him. Roderich made a mental note not to make any sudden movements, in case he accidentally prompted Vash to attack first.

Abruptly, Lily stepped forward, drawing the others' attention as this was the first sign of life she had shown since being confronted by the dress. Something was odd about the way she was looking at him, Roderich noticed, Her eyes were…sparkling?

"You look so pretty!" she blurted out suddenly. Vash stared at her in horror and Roderich wondered whether he should take her comment as a compliment or as an insult to his masculinity. "Don't you think he looks pretty, Vash?" Lily continued, looking up at her brother to seek his opinion. Vash flushed a little and lost some of his composure in his haste to educate his younger sister about gender roles.

"What? No! Men aren't supposed to be pretty. That's not – it's not – they aren't supposed to wear women's clothes either," he managed, flailing his arms about to try and emphasis his point. Gilbert snorted.

"Don't listen to him, kid," he advised. "Men dressed as maids are perfectly acceptable as long as they look damn hot in the outfit." Roderich somehow managed to grab Vash's wrist before he could resort to violence. The Swiss nation did not take kindly to idiots like Gilbert filling his sister's head with improper ideas.

"You mentioned a plan to retrieve the photograph from Elizabeta?" Roderich said to Gilbert, desperate to change the subject. Although he wasn't as strict in his views as Vash, he was also opposed to letting Gilbert and Lily share breathing space for any longer than necessary. Nobody could survive the Prussian's corrupting influence for too long without being affected, and Roderich blanched at the thought of Lily developing interests in the same vein as some of Elizabeta's.

"Oh yes, let me explain my amazing plan," Gilbert said, eagerly picking up the new topic. "It's a work of genius the likes of which you've never seen before…"

***

When Elizabeta heard the chime of her doorbell, she was surprised. She was even more surprised, albeit pleasantly so, when she opened the door and found Lily standing outside, smiling shyly up at her.

"Well this is unexpected," Elizabeta commented, returning the smile warmly. "Though, of course, you're always welcome to visit me whenever you like. Come inside."

"Thank you," Lily replied as Elizabeta moved aside the let her cross the threshold. "I'm sorry I didn't call ahead, but I just bought a new film and thought we could watch it together." She held up the film in question for Elizabeta to see.

"It looks good," the other nation said. She was genuinely pleased that Lily had decided to come round since the two women didn't see each other as much as they would like. They got on surprisingly well, and it was always good to see another female in a world that sometimes seemed completely dominated by men. As Elizabeta led the way into the lounge, she missed Lily's quick glance back through the panes of glass in the door; a glance that didn't spot anything abnormal unless you counted the small flash of the sun reflecting on something that definitely wasn't part of the garden.

Outside, standing out of sight amidst the trees that lined Elizabeta's property, Vash trained his binoculars on the window of the lounge, watching as Elizabeta turned the television on. Stage one of the plan – distraction – had been completed. Behind him, Gilbert casually placed a hand on Roderich's ass and then caught the elbow that had been aiming for his ribs. Roderich glared at him and wiped the smug smirk off his face by stamping on his foot.

"We should wait for ten minutes until she's gotten settled," Vash said, unknowingly breaking up the silent tussle. "Then we move in." He lowered the binoculars and leaned back against the trunk of a tree. "This has got to be the stupidest reason for invading someone's house I've ever heard," he added, glancing over at Roderich with an expression halfway between embarrassment and disapproval.

"I agree," Roderich muttered. Raising his voice a little, he said, "Vash, I've been wondering: why exactly _are_ you helping us? I mean, you and me – we're not – we don't exactly – well –"

"You don't get on?" Gilbert suggested, oblivious to the awkwardness that had filled the air between the other two nations in the way it always did whenever circumstances (usually Lily) brought them together.

"Lily wanted to help you and I couldn't persuade her otherwise," Vash said, sounding a little harsher than he had intended.

"Oh," Roderich replied quietly. He wasn't really surprised, but he must have looked hurt at the coldness in Vash's tone because the other nation relented a little.

"I also wanted to see if Gilbert's ridiculous story was true," he admitted, giving the dress another dark look. "I still can't believe you consented to something like this."

"I didn't _consent_," Roderich corrected immediately. "I was taken advantage of while intoxicated." He glared at Gilbert, who grinned in response.

"Don't pretend you're not enjoying it," he teased. Vash looked uneasily from one of them to the other.

"Are you two…?" he began in the tones of one who isn't sure they want to know the answer to their question.

"No," Roderich said hastily at exactly the same time that Gilbert said, "Yes."

"I see," Vash said slowly, the unreadable expression on his face making Roderich want to ask exactly what the other nation thought he saw. However, before he could, Vash turned back towards Elizabeta's house. "It's been long enough," he decided. "It's time to move in."

The three of them crept through the shadows between the trees until they were at an angle that couldn't be seen from the windows. They then sneaked silently through the gate at the side and into the back garden. The door that led into the kitchen was locked, but they had planned ahead and Vash, who was in the lead, held out a hand, Roderich passing him the key that Elizabeta had given him years ago. He had never imagined that he would one day use it for such a reason as trespassing in her house, but, well, desperate times and all that. Even if Elizabeta had said that the photograph would be part of her private collection (as opposed to what, Roderich didn't know), that wasn't a guarantee that no one else would ever lie eyes on it. What if somebody accidentally uncovered it? What if Francis' pervert senses started tingling and led him straight to it? No, the photograph definitely needed to be destroyed.

"We'll split up here," Vash whispered once they had successfully infiltrated the kitchen. "I'll search the ground floor and you two go upstairs. _Try_ to be quiet, will you?" He addressed the question to Gilbert, who nodded and mimed zipping his lips together, but Vash didn't look convinced. He also seemed uneasy about letting Roderich and Gilbert pair up, probably anticipating some sort of argument that would alert Elizabeta to their presence, but he didn't really have a choice. At least if Gilbert was on the first floor, any noise that he made would be muffled, so it was safer to send him upstairs, and even if Vash had preferred working with a partner as opposed to by himself, he still would never have chosen to pair himself with Roderich. It would be too tense and make him careless. Plus, that dress would completely destroy his concentration. It was so…_frilly_. Therefore, there was no alternative but to send Roderich and Gilbert up to safer ground and pray that they didn't mess up, because the wrath of Elizabeta was not a wrath that Vash wanted to experience anytime soon. Or ever, actually, come to think about it.

Roderich was also wary about having Gilbert on his heels as he quickly ascended the stairs. It was just that Gilbert was so easily distracted, especially when in close proximity to a maid uniform. However, as they began to search through each of the rooms, nothing happened to send Elizabeta any hint that there were uninvited guests in her house. Roderich felt a little guilty about his lack of faith in the other nation. Finally, the only room left to search was Elizabeta's bedroom.

"What the Hell?" Gilbert asked abruptly, frowning at what he saw. "This is her room? But it's all girly!" Roderich stared at him.

"I'm not quite sure how this escaped your attention, but Elizabeta is a woman," he explained slowly.

"I know that," Gilbert replied impatiently, "but she used to be such a tomboy. All the pastel colours came as a shock." He started rummaging through the boxes and bags of make-up, jewellery and other 'girly' stuff on the dressing table. "Hey, what are all these for?" He had uncovered a box filled with nothing but keys. Roderich came over to look at them.

"The front door, the back door, the windows, the greenhouse, her car, my house, and…" He picked up the final key and examined it. "I'm not entirely sure what this one's for."

"You're very knowledgeable about Elizabeta's key collection," Gilbert commented, and Roderich was surprised by the sullen tone that had entered his voice.

"Well she's a good friend of mine and I _was_ married to her at one point," Roderich pointed out.

"Yes: _was_," Gilbert snapped. "Past tense. So she shouldn't need _this_ anymore." He snatched up the key that Roderich had identified as the one that unlocked his own house and thrust it into his pocket.

"What are you talking about?" Roderich asked in exasperation. "Put that back."

"I'll do whatever the fuck I want with it," Gilbert replied, and his voice was rising to a dangerous volume. "She doesn't have –" Roderich silenced him the only way he knew was guaranteed to work. Then he pulled away from the kiss and frowned at Gilbert disapprovingly.

"Don't talk so loudly," he scolded. Gilbert glared at him sulkily.

"I just don't get why you let her have a key," he complained. Jealousy, Roderich realised. Again. Honestly, did Gilbert's possessiveness know no bounds? Roderich genuinely didn't understand how Gilbert could be envious over a relationship that had ended decades ago. Roderich viewed his marriage to Elizabeta as just another piece of history; something that was over and done with and not in need of any further consideration. It was just the same as the wars between Austria and Prussia that had been reduced from a bitter rivalry to fading scars, memories and pages in the history books.

"She looks after the house if I'm away for a considerable period of time and lets me into the house if I lose my own key," Roderich explained, mystified as to why this was something to get jealous of. Gilbert looked slightly placated but still faintly suspicious.

"So you're not still hopelessly in love with her and having some sort of affair –"

Roderich rolled his eyes and kissed him again, slipping his hand into Gilbert's pocket and retrieving the key while the other nation was suitably distracted. He wasn't enough of an idiot to believe that Gilbert would ever willingly give up an all-hours pass to his house.

"I wasn't being loud that time," Gilbert said when they broke apart, but he looked happier now.

"No," Roderich agreed, depositing the key back into the box. "You were just being stupid."

That was the moment when, in the corner of his eye, Roderich saw the door move. He froze. Gilbert looked at him in confusion for a moment, then followed his gaze and joined him in staring in horror. Slowly, the door swung open and Gilbert instinctively ducked.

"What are you doing?" Vash asked, raising an eyebrow at him. Gilbert straightened up sheepishly

"I thought you were a psycho pan-wielding maniac," he explained. "You shouldn't creep up on people like that!"

"Did you find the photograph?" Roderich asked.

"No," Vash replied, "and I take it that you didn't either. It could be that she hasn't taken it from the camera yet."

"We didn't find the camera either," Gilbert said. "But we've checked everywhere!"

"Everywhere apart from the room that Elizabeta and Lily are in right now," Vash pointed out. There was a silence as the three nations considered this problem.

"Oh, wait!" Roderich exclaimed suddenly, hope lacing his voice. "We haven't looked in the attic."

"All right, we'll check out the attic, but if it's not in there then we abort the mission," Vash said. Roderich looked thoughtful.

"I'm just not sure how we're going to get in," he said. "Elizabeta always locks the door and I don't know where she keeps the…" He trailed off as his eyes came to rest on the lone, unidentified key.

Elizabeta's attic turned out to be a large room dominated by piles of cardboard boxes of various sizes, all covered by a thin layer of dust. The windows, however, looked as though they were cleaned regularly, and rays of sunlight dispelled the darkness from the corners of the room. Roderich was about to express his despair over the sheer amount of possible places to store a photograph when his eyes were drawn to the back of the room. An extensive collection of photo albums were stacked against the wall, as clean and well cared for as the windows.

"Bingo," Gilbert crowed, picking his way through the boxes and kneeling by the albums, opening one at random and flicking through it. His eyes widened. "Holy shit, and you think _I_ stalk you?" he asked, looking up at Roderich, who had followed him. Vash stood in the doorway, keeping guard.

"What do you mean?" Roderich asked, kneeling down next to Gilbert and checking that his skirt was still keeping him decent before looking at the album. He stared, shocked. The pages were full of photographs of him, discreetly taken without him noticing. Raising his eyes to look at the piles of albums, he felt faint at the thought of what could be inside them. _Surely_ they couldn't all be pictures of him. He would have noticed if she had taken that many photographs. He _must_ have noticed. It just wasn't possible to be that oblivious.

"Oh, wow!" Gilbert suddenly exclaimed gleefully. "I like this one!" Roderich swallowed his dead and caught a glimpse of the picture as Gilbert tore it from the page. The blood drained from his face.

The image on the photograph was of him, like all the others, but what was especially disturbing about this picture was that it showed Roderich _getting changed_. The vantage point seemed to have been through his bedroom door, which Elizabeta had quietly pushed open a couple of inches, although not without being noticed as Roderich was turned towards the camera, looking confused and pausing in the act of taking off his shirt. Unfortunately (or fortunately, as Elizabeta must have considered it), he had already gotten rid of his trousers and a pair of red boxers were all that was keeping him decent. Roderich thought that he vaguely remembered when this must have been taken. He had thought he'd seen a flash from the doorway, but when he had turned, nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary, so he had shrugged it off as being his imagination. Now that he knew the truth, he shivered a little with a new fear of Elizabeta.

"Give it to me," he demanded, reaching out to try and take the picture from Gilbert, who batted his hand away.

"No way, I'm keeping it," the Prussian replied, moving the picture out of Roderich's reach. There was a brief struggle that ended when Gilbert dropped the heavy photo album onto a pile of even heavier albums, which collapsed. Loudly.

"You idiots!" Vash hissed from the doorway. "I knew you were too incompetent for this!" Sounds floated up from below – their cover was blown. "Hide!" Obeying his own command, he crouched behind a precariously balanced tower of boxes near the door. Gilbert grabbed Roderich's hand and half dragged him over to a gap between the boxes, pushing him down out of sight. As the piles were considerably smaller at this end of the room, they were forced to lie down to be completely hidden from view, and so Roderich found himself staring up at the ceiling and feeling the heat of Gilbert's body on top of him, the other nation's breath on his neck. He shivered a little and Gilbert smirked and kissed him on the ear.

Elizabeta marched up the stairs to the first floor, brandishing her frying pan threateningly, Lily following her closely. The poor girl had looked so scared when they had heard the thud from upstairs, Elizabeta thought sympathetically, yet she had still tried to persuade her friend to stay downstairs while she went to check it out alone. Bless.

As soon as she set foot on the landing, Elizabeta noticed that that the door that normally hid the attic stairs from view was ajar. She flung it open and raced up the stairs and through the second doorway at the top, gripping the pan above her head in case she needed to KO a burglar. However, the room looked disappointingly empty of intruders. Somebody had definitely been in there, though, judging from the mess at the back of the room. She narrowed her eyes. If Francis had been trying to steal her photos again, she was going to take her pan and –

"Elizabeta!" Lily squeaked. "I heard a noise! I think they're underneath us on the first floor." The intruder was trying to give her the slip! Elizabeta charged back down the stairs, cursing herself for not checking the bedrooms first. Lily lingered in the attic doorway. "You have to get out of here," she whispered. "I'll distract her." Vash emerged from his hiding place and nodded at her before she disappeared after Elizabeta.

Gilbert raised himself up onto his arms so that he could peer above the boxes and saw Vash gesturing frantically at him. He paused thoughtfully and looked back down at Roderich, who was still lying beneath him and looking positively delectable, Gilbert considered. "How about we stay here for a bit and –" he tried to suggest, but Roderich interrupted by pushing him back so that the shorter nation could raise himself onto his elbow.

"Your one-track mind never fails to astonish me," he said, not quite managing to suppress the urgency in his tone. "Sort your priorities out and get off me!" Gilbert grudgingly stood and reached down a hand to help Roderich to his feet as well. The three nations then descended the stairs as quickly as they could without making a noise, pausing at the bottom so that Vash could peer onto the landing and make sure that the coast was clear. Lily was standing in a bedroom doorway and doing a very good job of acting as though she was terrified of the burglars that Elizabeta believed to be inside her house.

"Check under the bed," she urged, then turned to wave the other three towards the second flight of stairs. They silently obeyed her, descending to the ground floor and thankfully managing to escape the house without experiencing any frying pan-induced concussions.

***

It wasn't that much later when Lily returned to let herself into Roderich's house. Elizabeta had been very frustrated to realise that the intruders had given her the slip, and Lily had had to console her by assuring her that there would be other burglars for her to inflict grievous bodily harm upon. This had comforted the other nation a little, although she had refused to let go of her pan in the hope that the intruders would be stupid enough to return. Lily hadn't had the heart to take this dream away from her.

Inside Roderich's living room, Vash, who had presumably stayed to wait for Lily, was arguing with Gilbert about who to lay the blame on for the failed mission. Roderich was sitting on a couch, watching them, an aura of gloom surrounding him.

"I'm back," Lily said, smiling in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere a little. Vash turned away from the bickering, looking relieved to see her.

"I'm glad you're here, Lily. It's time for us to go home," he said. He started to steer her towards the door, but Roderich's voice stopped him.

"Thank you," Roderich said softly. "Even though we didn't manage to retrieve the photograph, I'm grateful to you both for trying to help." Vash looked as though he was about to reply when Gilbert suddenly spoke.

"I just remembered something!" he exclaimed excitedly. "My plan wasn't a complete failure. I managed to take _this_." He extracted something from his pocket and held it up. It was the photograph that he had liberated from Elizabeta's stalker album. Roderich leapt to his feet and lunged for it, but Gilbert held it high above his head.

"I'm _not_ going to let you keep that!" Roderich growled, stretching his arm up to try and grasp the photograph, but Gilbert was taller than him and was able to keep it just out of reach.

"You can't stop me," the Prussian retorted, smirking. "I think I might start a 'private collection' of my own, starting with this."

"Don't you dare!" Roderich stood on his tip-toes, a hand on Gilbert's shoulder to steady himself, his other hand grasping at Gilbert's. He strained his fingers, which brushed against the edge of the photograph but couldn't quite get a hold on it. Gilbert laughed, and suddenly Roderich became aware of how close they were standing and what a perfect height his lips were at if Gilbert wanted to –

Their lips met, because _obviously_ Gilbert wanted to. Roderich faltered in his attempts to take possession of the picture, and Gilbert put a hand on his shoulder to gently but firmly push him back down to his normal height, both nations tilting their heads so as not to break the kiss. Well, Roderich thought as he lowered his arm slowly, trailing his fingers down Gilbert's skin, maybe he could steal back the photograph later on. Maybe –

A loud, deliberate cough behind him reminded Roderich abruptly that there were other people in the room. He pulled away immediately and turned, feeling the blood rush to his cheeks. Vash was also blushing from embarrassment, although that didn't stop him from glaring at them. He had covered Lily's eyes with his hand, shielding her from the sight.

"So _that's_ the real reason for…" He looked pointedly at the maid uniform and then glared again, but this time only at Gilbert, as if he couldn't even bear to look Roderich in the eye anymore.

"No!" Roderich protested, waving his arms emphatically to stress his denial, and being so completely mortified that he didn't even notice when Gilbert discreetly slipped the photograph back into his pocket. "It's nothing to do with – I mean, I'm not – I didn't –"

"Of course not," Vash said, clearly not buying any of the half-formed excuses. He took his hand out of Lily's line of vision, revealing her confused expression, and took her by the arm to march her with him towards the front door. Roderich tried to follow them and protest his innocence in all maid-related matters, but Gilbert held him back.

"Just let it go," he soothed, although he couldn't suppress the huge grin on his face. Roderich looked at him in despair as the front door slammed shut in the hallway.

"But he's got completely the wrong impression!" he said, distressed. "I didn't choose to dress like this!"

"Not this time," Gilbert agreed, "but soon there will come a glorious era where you will cater to my every sexual whim." He beamed, and Roderich shot him an exasperated look before heading hurriedly out of the room. He _would_ catch up with Vash, even if he had to chase him all the way to Switzerland, he promised himself as he headed out into the sunlight. The rest of the world could suspect whatever they damn well wanted about his and Gilbert's relationship, but nobody, _nobody_, was going to walk away believing that he wore dresses for fun.

**A/N -** **After last chapter, somebody suggested that I write a FrUK spin-off of Duties about Arthur's ordeal of staying with Francis. I'm considering writing it, but before I make any promises, I want to know if anybody else would be interested. I've put a poll on my bio because polls make it so much easier to make sense of information. Although obviously I would love to hear any opinions or ideas in reviews as well since, at this stage, I only have a handful of half-formed ideas. Feedback on this chapter will also be received with love**


	8. Chapter Seven

**A/N - Sorry about the long wait again! Life is becoming very busy for me! But here we are, finally, a new chapter! If you go look on my bio, I've posted the links of two more amazing fanarts for this fic that you should totally go and check out and shower with love and comments. Thanks to Mizzy Jagger and prussiablue from LJ for them, I love you guys!**

Roderich stood in the centre of the room, put his hands on his hips and _glared_. In response, Gilbert adjusted his smirk from a level six (infuriating) to a level eight (fast approaching a punch in the face). Roderich couldn't quite remember why he had decided it was necessary to create a scale for measuring his Gilbert-caused annoyance, since no scale could ever possibly be large enough, but since it was a fairly good indicator of impending violence, he stuck with it. Now, feeling his fingers twitch a little as he resisted curling his hands into fists, he tried to remind himself that it had been five days since The Week From Hell had begun and so the time was nearing when he would be able to kick Gilbert out of his house, preferably from a first floor window.

"Where is it, Gilbert?" he asked testily.

"That's for me to know," Gilbert replied smugly. "Are you sure you looked everywhere?"

Roderich glanced around the room in exasperation. He hadn't given up on destroying the photograph that Gilbert had stolen from Elizabeta, but before he could so much as crumple it, he had to _find_ it. And therein lay the problem. He had ransacked Gilbert's room; removed the few remaining clothes from the wardrobe, emptied all the drawers, gone through the pockets of the clothes that had returned to oppress the carpet and even taken the cases off the pillows. Interestingly, and this fact probably said something about Gilbert's ability to turn mess-making into an art form, the room now looked a lot tidier than it had done previously. Roderich hadn't understood how this could be possible, and still didn't, but had decided to count it as a small blessing since he knew that he would be the one who would eventually have to clean the room anyway.

"I'll tell Elizabeta that you took it," Roderich threatened in a last desperate attempt at persuading the other nation to hand over the photo. It was a low blow, he knew, but he was past caring. Even the look of utter betrayal that came over Gilbert's face didn't make him feel the slightest twinge of guilt.

"Even if Elizabeta _did_ get it back from me, which she wouldn't, she'd never give it back to you," Gilbert retorted, triumphantly latching onto a counter-argument. "She'd just put it back into her stalker stash." The most annoying thing was that he was right. His last resort snatched heartlessly from his reach, Roderich sighed in frustration and sat down on the bed. Gilbert immediately sat down next to him and slung an arm casually over his shoulders.

"Don't look so depressed, sweetheart, it's not the end of the world," he said soothingly, although the huge grin on his face cancelled out the rather good impression of sincerity in his tone. Roderich shrugged the arm off his shoulders as a small sign of rebellion, but Gilbert merely re-positioned it around the Austrian's waist. "Are you sulking?" he suddenly asked, sounding gleeful about catching Roderich acting immaturely.

"No," Roderich replied, internally wincing as the petulant tone of his voice gave away the lie. He tried to wriggle out of Gilbert's grip, but the other nation only laughed and effortlessly pulled him closer. "Can you stop clinging to me?" Roderich snapped.

"Why would I want to do that?" Gilbert asked teasingly. "You're so touchable." Roderich turned to give the blond nation a piece of his mind only to find himself smothered by a pair of lips before he could even get out the first word.

Immediately, Roderich pushed the other nation away from him. Or, at least, that's what he had intended to do. In reality, his body had committed a mutiny and was sitting docilely, allowing itself to be kissed and resolutely ignoring the urgent commands being issued by its brain. 'You too, arms?' Roderich thought in despair as the traitorous limbs reached up of their own accord to snake their way around Gilbert's neck.

It was almost frightening how frequent scenes of this nature were becoming, Roderich mused idly as Gilbert's arms tightened around him, closing the distance between them as much as their slightly awkward position allowed. Spontaneous kisses like this were becoming an almost daily occurrence and, worryingly, Roderich didn't mind. It seemed as though the more Gilbert gave, the more Roderich wanted. Sometimes he wondered about the nature of whatever was between them, but it often unnerved him too much for him to think about it for any considerable length of time. Lust obviously played a large part in it, but there were moments such as now where something else wrestled lust away from the wheel and took over the role of the driving force behind their actions. What that something else was, Roderich didn't want to know. The possibilities scared him.

Somewhere in the house, the muffled noise of the telephone started to ring. Roderich vaguely considered answering it, and had just rejected the idea on the grounds that it would mean untangling himself from Gilbert's arms, when the Prussian pulled back slightly.

"Aren't you going to answer that?" he murmured.

"No," Roderich replied, already having lost the battle between body and mind, and he pressed his lips to Gilbert's again, fitting their mouths together like two halves of a perfect whole. He successfully ignored the ringing until it stopped altogether, but after a brief pause, it started again, shrill and insistent. This time it was Roderich who reluctantly broke the kiss.

"If they're calling again, it might be urgent," he said, although he sounded dubious as to whether or not he cared. Gilbert let him go, pouting a little.

"It better be urgent," he said.

Roderich walked quickly down the landing to his own bedroom and picked up the handset that rested on a small chest of drawers next to his bed. He was feeling slightly annoyed at whoever was calling for interrupting, and that fact made him even more annoyed at himself for losing control so easily and letting Gilbert do whatever he pleased even though Roderich was supposed to be mad at him.

"Hello?" he said in a slightly colder tone than he would usually have used. However, the response, when it came, dissolved all of his irritation.

"Roderich, you have to help me." It was Elizabeta, and Roderich could hardly make out what she was saying through the sobs that choked her voice. "Something terrible has happened!"

"What's wrong?" Roderich asked worriedly, possible scenarios flashing through his head, each one worse than the last. Had she hurt herself? Accidentally become one with Russia? Killed someone by hitting them a little too enthusiastically with her kitchen appliance of choice then chopped up the body and thrown the pieces into the river?

"It's terrible," Elizabeta gasped through her sobs. "I – I can't find my frying pan!" She collapsed into fresh tears and Roderich paused, unsure whether he had heard her correctly.

"Is that all?" he asked, trying not to sound insensitive.

"I know you think I'm overreacting, but that pan is like a part of me," Elizabeta wailed. "Imagine if your piano had been stolen. That's what this is like for me!" Well, when she put it like that…

As Roderich tried to soothe Elizabeta, Gilbert stepped silently into the room and leaned back against the doorjamb. Roderich hadn't noticed his presence, which Gilbert would usually have taken as an invitation to eavesdrop, but today he found that he couldn't care less about who was on the phone or what they wanted. Instead, he was perfectly content to watch Roderich curl the phone cord around his finger, untangle it, and start the process again. It was a habit so ingrained that the Austrian didn't even notice he was doing it until he succeeded in wrapping the wire so tightly around his finger that he couldn't pull it free. Gilbert chuckled lightly and moved forward to untangle it, receiving a half-embarrassed, half-grateful look in response.

Finally, Roderich bid a goodbye, hung up the phone and sighed. "I'm going out," he said to Gilbert, who had remained standing next to him.

"Cool," Gilbert replied, "I'll come too. Where are we going?"

"To Elizabeta's house." Gilbert's expression darkened.

"No way! I forbid it!"

"She's lost her frying pan."

"Wow, really?" Gilbert's glee returned to his face. "I've changed my mind! We're totally going over to gloat."

"Fine, but I'm buying her a new pan on the way." Gilbert paused and then glared.

"Now you're just messing with me, aren't you?"

"Maybe," Roderich admitted, his lips twitching as he tried not to let an amused smile slip onto his features. "Although I wasn't lying about buying her a new pan. She's very distressed about losing it."

"You do realise that she doesn't use pans to cook with, don't you?" Gilbert said as he followed Roderich out of the bedroom and down the stairs. "In her hands, they're weapons of mass destruction. The world would be forever grateful to you if you stopped encouraging her to commit random acts of violence!"

"They aren't random," Roderich replied idly, "you deserved every smack she's ever given you. Don't argue," he said as Gilbert opened his mouth to do just that. "Most of the time you were attacked for harassing _me_ and I definitely think that deserved punishment. So, are you coming or not?"

"No," Gilbert replied sulkily. "She'd probably test out her new weapon on me." He glared at Roderich, daring him to deny it, but Roderich was ignoring him in favour of glancing down at his dress and biting his lip. "Maybe you should wear a coat," Gilbert suggested. "It's got to be a better idea than just running around in public in that outfit like you did yesterday." His mood lifted as he remembered the events of the previous day and he grinned.

After Vash and Lily had left the day before, Roderich had indeed followed them all the way back to Vash's house, drawing more than a few shocked looks and, frighteningly enough, an offer of a job in the sort of dodgy establishment where tips were given via the insertion of cash into underwear. Roderich hadn't stayed around to hear the rest of the details, but even this incident hadn't given rise to the thought that maybe it wasn't a great idea to walk through the streets in a French maid uniform. It was only when he had managed to harass Vash into accepting the fact that Roderich did not, in fact, have any unusual hobbies involving women's clothing (and _especially_ none that involved Gilbert, how could anyone even _suggest_ such a thing?) that his priorities reorganised themselves into a slightly more logical order. This, however, resulted in him refusing to leave the house dressed as he was. In the end, Vash had resorted to calling Gilbert over to remove Roderich forcibly from his property. Gilbert had found the entire situation hilarious. Roderich had not.

The coat, however, when Roderich put it on, was only a slight improvement.

"You look like you're naked underneath it," Gilbert pointed out helpfully, looking as though he wished this were the case as he ogled Roderich's bare legs.

"Or maybe you're just a pervert," Roderich replied somewhat testily. At least the weather was cooler today, he considered, so he wouldn't look quite as odd as he would have done in the warm sunshine of the past couple of weeks. Gilbert did have a point though, Roderich despaired. He looked like a stripper, or perhaps just somebody who hadn't bothered to get dressed before leaving the house. Either way, he thought, looking on the bright side, at least it wasn't obvious that he was crossdressing. Maybe he would be able to get through this journey without being accosted or arrested. Maybe.

"Don't be long," Gilbert ordered as Roderich stepped outside. "And don't get lost because I'm not going to come looking for you if you do." Roderich scowled at him.

"I can find my way to Elizabeta's house," he protested.

"I'll believe it when I see it," Gilbert replied doubtfully. "Although personally I don't care if you get there or not as long as someone takes pity on you and brings you home before it gets dark." Roderich didn't even grace this remark with an answer and turned to walk away, hearing the door shut behind him.

Finding his way to a supermarket so that he could purchase a frying pan was easy enough, and although a few people gave him suspicious looks, most of the shoppers ignored him, which was a relief. As Roderich stepped out of the shop carrying a plastic bag, he was rather glad of the coat for keeping him warm as well as hiding the shameful dress. The day had become quite cold as clouds blocked out the sun and slowly took over the sky until it was completely swallowed by white.

It was only after walking down the street for quite a way that Roderich started to get an uneasy feeling of unfamiliarity. Looking at his surroundings, the feeling deepened. It was possible that he perhaps wasn't entirely sure where he was, although he couldn't be too far from the right path, Roderich reasoned. Surely if he kept going he would find somewhere he recognised. So, ignoring the fact that he used this logic every time he got lost and it had never once gotten him anything except even _more_ lost, he carried on. After all, there was a first time for everything, right?

Forty minutes later, Roderich finally admitted that perhaps today was not a day for firsts. He stopped walking and looked around in despair. The street he was on was pleasant, lined on one side with old but well-kept houses, the other side a sloping grass bank that led down to a river, a few small boats tied to posts along the side. However, this provided little comfort since it meant that Gilbert had been right about Roderich's incompetence in getting from point A to point B without taking a detour through points L to Q and ending up at point Z. He hated it when Gilbert was right.

Roderich was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't notice the other person on the street until he started walking again and bumped into them.

"I'm sorry," he apologised, "I didn't see…" His voice trailed off as he realised that he recognised the man in front of him. "Ivan?"

"_Da_, it's me," the Russian replied, smiling in his customary ambiguous way. Roderich wasn't sure whether he was lucky that somebody had found him or whether he would prefer to have continued roaming the streets aimlessly until he inevitably ended up in France. This appeared to be the default destination of all Roderich's journeys if he lost his way, something that he was highly suspicious about, but so far he had been unable to prove that Francis was somehow orchestrating this. All he knew was that when the street signs started to be written in French, it wouldn't be long until he was found by a certain Frenchman who never looked surprised to see him and was very reluctant to let him go home.

"You look lost," Ivan commented, and Roderich wondered whether he really did or if everybody just automatically assumed that he would be.

"I am," he admitted, supposing that since he had already used up his quota of close encounters with Francis for this week, he might as well give Ivan the benefit of the doubt and allow him to help. "Um, could you…that is, if you wouldn't mind…"

"Of course," Ivan replied, and Roderich tried to convince himself that the Russian's smile didn't look sinister. "Don't worry; I'll take you back to where you belong."

***

Gilbert was bored. There was nothing to do now that Roderich had left. He had already found Roderich's world map and re-named Austria as 'Prussia' and the other countries had now been labelled such things as 'Pervertopia', 'Here be eyebrows', or simply 'Prussia's bitch'. It had been fun for all of fifteen minutes and then he had lost interest and doodled Gilbird in Alaska shooting laser beams from its eyes at the other forty-nine states of America. Since then he had rearranged the mess on his bedroom floor (Roderich, for some unfathomable reason, kept trying to destroy his masterpiece) and considered making himself some food before deciding that being bludgeoned by a fruit bowl was still not something that he wished to experience. At the moment he was seeing if getting a new perspective on things would reveal any exciting new ideas, and so he was sitting upside down on the couch with his head on the floor and his legs up against the back of the sofa when the phone rang.

After sitting up and letting the blood rush out of his head for a moment, Gilbert reached out and picked up the handset, feeling slightly light-headed. "Good afternoon, you've reached Roderich Edelstein's answering machine, please leave a message after the beep." There was a pause.

"Aren't you going to beep?" Elizabeta's voice asked.

"No," Gilbert replied, "because I don't want to hear your message. Why are you calling here anyway? Roderich set off to visit you over an hour ago. Didn't he make it?"

"Apparently not," Elizabeta sighed. "That's unusual. I spent months training him so that he could find his way here. He hasn't gotten lost on the way for a long time." Even so, Gilbert thought, all it takes is one little distraction and – oh. Of course.

"It's because he went to buy you a new frying pan on the way," he said, voicing his thoughts out loud. "I _told_ him it would only cause trouble. Serves him right for not listening to me."

"He bought me a new pan? Oh, that's so _kind_ of him," Elizabeta gushed. Gilbert scowled. "He didn't have to do that – I didn't ask him to. He's such a –"

"Can't you just back off from him?" Gilbert suddenly snapped as the already dangerously fragile buffer between his thoughts and his mouth collapsed. He paused as he realised that he had finally spoken aloud what he had wanted to say to Elizabeta for a long time. He wasn't sure whether it had been wise. But then, oddly enough, Elizabeta laughed.

"What's so funny?" Gilbert asked, failing to see anything remotely humourous.

"Your completely unnecessary jealousy," Elizabeta replied, still sounding amused. "Look, nobody's going to come onto Roderich-"

"Francis already did," Gilbert interrupted.

"Yes, but he doesn't count," Elizabeta replied airily. "He'll make a move on anything that has a pulse. In fact, I'm not entirely sure that a pulse is a requirement for him…"

"Get on with it," Gilbert said impatiently. A noise of indignation came down the phone.

"You're so rude," Elizabeta sniffed, and for a moment Gilbert thought she was going to hang up, but then she continued. "The point I'm trying to make is that even if anybody else _did_ try it on with Roderich, they wouldn't stand a chance." Gilbert frowned, trying and failing to glimpse some sort of logic in this claim.

"Why not?" he asked, giving up. Elizabeta sighed.

"You're so blind," she said. "_Both_ of you. Go and figure it out yourself." And this time she did hang up the phone. Gilbert scowled.

"Well fuck you then," he said to the dial tone, and put the receiver back on the hook.

Gilbert honestly had no idea what Elizabeta had been trying to say. In fact, he half suspected that she had been talking rubbish for the sole purpose of confusing him. It was the sort of thing she would do. Well, she wouldn't get away with it! Gilbert picked up the phone again and dialled Elizabeta's number.

"What now?" the Hungarian asked testily when she answered.

"I hope your frying pan burns in Hell," Gilbert snapped, and felt mild satisfaction as he slammed down the phone. Revenge always made him feel better.

Clearly Elizabeta had no understanding of how these things worked, he considered as he tried again to make sense of what she had said. Perhaps she had been referring to the fact that he was so irresistible that Roderich wouldn't have eyes for anyone else, since this was the most logical assumption to make. However, there had been many times in the past when Roderich could have chosen to be with him. He never had. This was why Gilbert was so paranoid. In his experience, even if someone wasn't in a relationship, they had the power to enter one at any given moment, making themselves unavailable to anyone else who was interested. Not that Gilbert had ever considered the possibility of entering a relationship with Roderich himself. It wasn't a thought that came naturally to him. All he knew was that he didn't want any other bastards laying a hand on his maid. Ever.

Gilbert abandoned these thoughts for the time being, since now it was time to go and find Roderich before he inevitably ended up in Francis' clutches again. Gilbert shared Roderich's belief that Francis had somehow managed to create some sort of Roderich-magnet, capable of luring the unsuspecting Austrian into France against his will. If so, it was a terrible, inhumane device and ought to be destroyed. Secretly, Gilbert wished that he had thought of it first.

As he opened the front door to leave, however, he was surprised to find that somebody was already standing on the doorstep, hand poised above the doorbell. It was Toris. That was odd, Gilbert thought, frowning a little. Toris was one of the last people he would expect to come knocking on Roderich's door. Toris, however, did not look surprised to see him. Gilbert was about to ask what he was doing here when an envelope was thrust towards him. He took it cautiously.

"Ivan asked me to deliver this to you," Toris said shortly and turned to leave, but Gilbert reached out and snagged him by the back of his shirt.

"Hang on a minute," he ordered. "What's this about?" He held the envelope as if it might explode at any moment; anything to do with Ivan made him instantly suspicious. Toris threw him an annoyed look and tried to free himself from Gilbert's hold, but he wasn't quite strong enough.

"I have no idea what it is. I was told to give it to you and that you'd be here. That's all. I've done my job so let go of me, I have other things that need doing." He glared at Gilbert, who ignored him as he struggled to open the envelope one-handed. It wasn't easy, but eventually he managed it, holding on to the letter inside and shaking it free of the envelope, which he let fall to the floor.

A short message had been written in Ivan's painstakingly neat handwriting. It read: 'Gilbert, it may interest you to know that while I was taking a walk today, I found something that belongs to you, although it insists that it does not and assures me that I'm drawing entirely the wrong conclusion. If this is the case, I intend to make it one with Russia. If not, I still intend to make it one with Russia since it happens that I require the services of another maid and it would be a shame to let this one go to waste on you. P.S. kolkolkolkolkol!!!'

If writing a sinister laugh on a letter wasn't a sign of insanity, Gilbert didn't know what was. And _three_ exclamation marks? He shuddered to think of the level of madness that would drive a man to use such excessive punctuation. What really made his blood run cold, however, was the mention of a maid. The thought of Roderich being in Ivan's clutches made him feel as though ice were crystallising in his veins.

"Is something wrong?" Toris asked warily as he watched Gilbert's expression, although he wished he hadn't spoken when a hand fisted in his shirt and yanked him closer to, though still not quite reaching, Gilbert's eye level.

"What has Ivan done with him?" the other nation growled. Toris strained on his tip-tops and hoped that his shirt wouldn't rip. He tried to school his expression into one that was in no way punchable.

"I don't know who you're talking about," he protested. "Whatever the letter says, I have nothing to do with it. I'm just the messenger." Gilbert looked torn between believing him and ripping his head off. "Look, if Ivan's done something wrong," Toris tried to reason, "go take it up with _him_." Gilbert considered this and decided that it would be much more satisfying to take his anger out on Ivan. Plus, every minute he spent here was another minute that Roderich was in danger of becoming one with Russia…

Toris stumbled as the hand bunched in his shirt abruptly let go. Gilbert pushed past him and broke into a run without a word. Toris scowled after the retreating figure as he straightened his shirt and massaged his abused throat. As he did so, something on the floor caught his eye, and a closer inspection revealed it to be Ivan's letter. Well, Toris justified as he bent down to pick it up, just dropping it like that was practically an _invitation_ to read it. So he did. He frowned.

"Maid?" he wondered out loud. He thought back to Gilbert's earlier choice of pronoun. "_Him_?" he mumbled. He glanced at the evil laugh in the postscript, glanced at the house in front of him, glanced back towards where Gilbert had disappeared. "I don't even _want_ to know," he said.

Gilbert reached Ivan's house fully prepared to fling open the door, storm inside, and play hero ten times better than Alfred could ever _hope_ to. Probably ten times more violently as well. However, as he went to make his dramatic entrance, his plans were foiled before they had even begun. The door was locked. Usually this sort of outrage would have caused Gilbert to sulk for hours, but he didn't have time for that right now, so instead he grudgingly knocked on the door, trying to ignore the disappointing sting of anticlimax.

The sound of a key slowly turning in the lock reached his ears, and he clenched his hands into fists, muscles tensed and ready to swing a punch. When the door slowly swung open, however, it wasn't Ivan's face that was revealed.

"Can I help you?" Raivis asked nervously, taking in Gilbert's expression and stance and wishing that he hadn't opened the door.

"Where's Ivan?" Gilbert asked, pushing roughly past him into the house. Raivis decided not to complain about this display of rudeness. Living in Ivan's house had done wonders for his self-preservation skills.

"He's in his study," he replied instead. "Up the stairs, first door on the left."

Gilbert was taking the stairs two at a time before Raivis had even finished speaking. There was a pit of worry eating at his insides and he only hoped that he wasn't too late. If Roderich had been hurt in any way – any way at all – then Gilbert was going to take the Russian's precious faucet and –

He flung open the study door before he could complete the thought. Ivan calmly raised his head from the papers he was reading at his desk and smiled at him in a way that made Gilbert want to wring his neck. In a fury, he marched over to the desk and slammed his hands down on it.

"Where is he?" he growled.

"I see you received my letter," Ivan said conversationally, totally ignoring the question. "Though I must admit that I didn't expect you to get here so quickly."

"Cut the crap, Ivan!" Gilbert shouted, not in the mood to deal with the Russian's games. "If you've done anything to him, I _will_ kill you." Even Ivan couldn't ignore the seriousness of the threat, and his eyes hardened, his smile becoming colder.

"It seems that you still haven't managed to learn any manners," he said quietly, and his tone made Gilbert suppress a shiver.

"Where is he?" Gilbert repeated. Ivan let his eyes slip from Gilbert's face to focus on a point behind the Prussian, and Gilbert suddenly realised that he had been so intent on threatening Ivan that he hadn't even glanced at the other half of the room. He turned.

Roderich was lying on a sofa, the coat missing and the maid uniform exposed. His eyes were closed and his glasses had been placed neatly on a coffee table. Gilbert rushed over to him and knelt beside the couch.

"Roderich?" he said, trying to get some sort of reaction from the motionless form. "Hey, wake up!" He shook Roderich's shoulders gently, but the other nation didn't even stir. The pit of dread in Gilbert's stomach began to writhe uncomfortably, and his mouth was suddenly very dry.

"What did you do to him?" he demanded, aware that there was now more fear in his voice than anger. He looked up at Ivan, who had followed him at a leisurely pace to stand over them, looking positively cheerful at Gilbert's reaction.

"Now, now, don't jump to conclusions," he chastised. "This had nothing to do with me. I'm afraid the exertion of walking too far in the cold took its toll on him and he fainted. Poor thing," he added, idly stroking his fingers through Roderich's hair. Gilbert grabbed his wrist and jerked it away, shooting the Russian a glare so intense that it was a miracle he didn't combust on the spot.

"Don't touch him," he snarled. Ivan merely looked amused. Gilbert didn't believe Ivan's excuses for a second, although on touching Roderich's cheek it became apparent that the unconscious nation _was_ quite cold, so Gilbert shrugged off his jacket and laid it over him. He also smoothed out a flip in the skirt that was revealing more thigh than he was comfortable with Ivan seeing.

"Roderich explained the circumstances of the dress to me before his unfortunate bout of unconsciousness," Ivan commented after watching this gesture. "He was very keen that I understand that _you_ are the sexual deviant and not him."

Gilbert didn't bother replying to this in favour of sliding one of his hands under Roderich's shoulder blades and the other under his knees, then lifting the other nation into his arms, cradling the limp body against his chest.

"We're leaving," he said to Ivan, his tone promising that any argument would result in faucets having to be surgically removed from unmentionable areas.

"I'm afraid I can't allow that," Ivan said sadly, and withdrew something from his pocket so quickly that Gilbert had time only to blink before something was sprayed in his face, and then he was breathing it in and feeling lightheaded.

"W-what?" he managed to say, dimly realising that his vision was growing faint around the edges. Ivan gently eased Roderich from his unresisting arms.

"Do you think I sent you that letter merely to gloat?" he asked, smiling in a way that infuriated Gilbert even through the haze that his mind was quickly becoming. "I knew you would come to rescue your maid. Soon you will both become one with Russia, _da_?" Gilbert would have punched him, but somehow all he managed to do was plough headfirst into the carpet, and then his world went black.

Ivan watched him collapse, and then sighed. He placed Roderich carefully back onto the sofa and looked pityingly down at Gilbert. "Oh dear, it looks like Gilbert has exerted himself too much in the cold as well," he said. "When will they learn?"

***

Gilbert's eyelids felt heavy and his head hurt. Those were the only two things he knew. He tried to open his eyes, but it was too much effort and it was so much easier to just lie here where it was soft and comfortable and there were fingers carding through his hair – wait. What?

"Careful," a voice said as he tried to sit up. The hand withdrew from his hair and pressed on his chest, pinning him down. "Just lie still for a minute."

With enormous effort, Gilbert forced his eyes open, blinking them rapidly a few times to adjust them. Roderich's face swam into view above him, looking relieved. After a couple of seconds of confused disorientation, Gilbert realised that he was lying on the floor but with the added bonus of Roderich's thighs acting as a makeshift pillow for his head.

"Score," he mumbled to himself. Roderich frowned.

"What was that?" he asked.

"You have a comfy lap," Gilbert clarified, and Roderich blushed slightly and looked away.

"Well I couldn't lift you onto the couch and you looked uncomfortable on the floor," he said, his tone daring Gilbert to find a problem with this explanation. Gilbert was never one to turn down a dare.

"You could have used one of the cushions on the couch," he pointed out. Roderich bit his lip lightly, looking caught out. Gilbert decided to take pity on him. "I prefer your thighs to a cushion, though," he said, reaching up a hand to slide along under the skirt and turning his head to kiss the other's skin lightly. Roderich caught his wrist and pulled his hand away.

"This isn't the time," the brunet murmured.

"Will later be the time?" Gilbert asked automatically, before suddenly remembering where he was and why he was lying on the floor. He immediately tried to sit up again, but his head swam and Roderich had to help him.

"He _drugged_ me!" Gilbert realised furiously.

"Me too," Roderich said, proving Gilbert's earlier suspicions to be true. He was surprised when Gilbert's hand came up to rest on his cheek.

"You're all right, aren't you?" Gilbert asked, his eyes boring into Roderich's as if he were trying to see into his soul. "He didn't hurt you?"

"No," Roderich replied, and Gilbert felt relief spread through him. He leant forward and kissed Roderich gently, just wanting to feel the softness of the other nation's lips.

"I thought you said you weren't going to come find me if I got lost," Roderich murmured against his mouth. Gilbert kissed him again.

"I lied," he said.

At that moment, a sound made them both turn. The study door opened and Ivan entered, smiling and holding a sheaf of paper. The sight of him caused a shock of anger to rush through Gilbert and he got to his feet, Roderich mirroring the movement.

"You bastard," Gilbert growled. "You can't just douse people with chloroform-in-a-can or whatever that crap was!"

"Actually, I can" Ivan corrected cheerfully, annoying Gilbert even more. "Although I'm glad to see that you've both woken up. I've finalised the paperwork that will put Austria under Russian rule. All I need is your signature." He put the papers on the coffee table and beamed at Roderich as if he were asking for something completely reasonable.

"What makes you think I'm going to give you my country?" Roderich asked, genuinely bewildered by Ivan's casual attitude. "I'll never sign!"

"That's what everyone says…at first," Ivan replied. He paused. "In fact, they don't usually change their minds." He frowned, as if only just realising the flaws in his plan. Then he shrugged. "I'm sure you'll want to become one with me after enough vodka." Gilbert stepped forward, outraged.

"The only person who's going to become one with Roderich while he's too drunk to know any better is me!" he proclaimed. Ivan looked confused.

"How is that possible?" he asked. "You don't have a country to become one _with_." Now it was Gilbert's turn to look confused.

"I don't see how having a country would be necessary," he replied. Roderich smacked his hand lightly against his forehead, a long-suffering look on his face.

"It wasn't an innuendo, Gilbert," he explained. Gilbert stared at him, bewildered.

"Really?" he asked.

"Yes." Frowning, Gilbert tried to make sense of how a sentence like that could possibly _not_ contain a double entendre.

"…are you _sure_?"

"_Yes_."

"Oh." Gilbert looked thoughtful. "Weird." Then he resumed his previous expression of righteous anger. "Either way, I'm going to kick your ass," he proclaimed, before flinging himself at Ivan, fist pulled back ready to punch.

Roderich looked around helplessly as the two men started to brawl, searching for something – anything – that he could use as a weapon. Ivan was strong and he was putting up a good fight, deflecting enough of Gilbert's blows and landing enough of his own to keep the fight more or less even. Roderich knew that his own hand-to-hand combat skills were somewhat lacking, so instead of getting in the way, he tried to find something that could enable him to help Gilbert. Suddenly, he spotted something familiar lying on the carpet next to the couch. He smiled. Bingo.

Gilbert let out a gasp as Ivan's fist was painfully introduced to his cheekbone, and suddenly he was caught in a headlock. He struggled, but the Russian's grip was too strong.

"You're always causing so much trouble," Ivan chastised, though he was panting a little. "You shouldn't-" A noise that sounded faintly familiar to Gilbert interrupted him, and then Gilbert felt the arms around him slacken and fall away as Ivan collapsed onto the floor. He looked down at the prone form in confusion and then understood. A frying pan lay on the ground, trying to look innocent, but Gilbert knew better. He now realised that the familiar noise had been the sound of a pan colliding with a head, something that he knew about all too well. He turned to see Roderich holding a plastic supermarket bag.

"Remind me to Have Words with Elizabeta later," he said. "She's clearly a bad influence on you."

"You're welcome, it was nothing to save you from being beaten," Roderich deadpanned. Gilbert looked offended.

"Hey, I was defending _you_!" he protested. "And I would totally have won if you hadn't interrupted." Roderich rolled his eyes and retrieved the pan, placing it back inside the plastic bag. He then hesitated and checked Ivan's pulse, just in case. He looked relieved by what he felt, causing Gilbert to momentarily assume that the Russian was dead, only to have his hopes dashed when he noticed that Ivan's chest was rising and falling as he breathed. Gilbert pouted, disappointed.

Meanwhile, Roderich was looking for something. "Can you see my coat?" he asked, having moved on from the fact that he had KO'd a man with a kitchen appliance to more important matters. Gilbert glanced around the room. The coat was nowhere to be seen.

"I'd lend you this," he said, picking up his jacket from the sofa, "but it's not long enough to hide the skirt." His eyes landed on Ivan's still form and he suddenly grinned. "I have an idea," he said.

When they stepped out of the front door a minute later, the air had gotten slightly warmer, although not by much. Roderich looked unhappily down at the coat he was wearing. It was Ivan's, and it was ridiculously large on Roderich.

"I look even worse than I did before," the Austrian moaned. Gilbert laughed and flipped the scarf around his neck that he had also liberated from Ivan, just out of spite.

"But less dodgy than you would in nothing but a maid uniform," he pointed out, and pulled the sleeve of the coat up until it revealed Roderich's hand, which he grasped tightly in his own. Roderich faltered and blushed, looking a little shocked.

"W-what are you doing?" he stuttered.

"Making sure you don't get lost again," Gilbert replied, smirking as Roderich scowled at him and turned away, although he didn't try to reclaim his hand.


	9. Chapter Eight

**A/N - First I'd like to thank Amethyst DragonRider for beta-ing this chapter for me, so my typo problem ought to be under control, and if not, I can pass the blame onto someone else, so that's great either way XD The rating in this chapter goes up again, though it's actually not as explicit as I'd originally intended it to be...in fact, this whole chapter sort of wrote itself and I just hung on and was dragged along for the ride. Also, this is the first chapter written entirely from Gilbert's POV. It was fun, but I kind of miss Roderich XD I hope you enjoy!**

A little known fact about Gilbert Beilschmidt was that he was a morning person. Many people who met him, if asked, would assume that he was the type to laze about and sleep half the day away (which was sometimes the case if he had been drinking heavily the night before or received a particularly nasty blow to the head from a certain frying pan), but for the most part, they were wrong. The truth was that Gilbert was far too energetic to require much sleep, and why on Earth would he want to waste time doing so when he could be engaging in more productive activities such as hiding his brother's paperwork or sending bunches of dead sunflowers to Ivan? No, Gilbert Beilschmidt rose with the sun.

On this particular morning, the light that crept around the edges of the curtains was weak and pale. It wasn't even trying to make a good first impression, Gilbert mused as he slipped his legs out from under the covers and slowly stood up, stretching lazily. He yawned as he picked his way through the clutter on the floor to draw back the curtains, revealing Roderich's back garden drenched with the dawn. Frowning a little, Gilbert lifted his hands and counted on his fingers, stopping at six as he reached the day of the week that he had just woken up into. Could it really be the sixth day already? Where had the week gone? It felt as though the time had been whisked away and hidden amongst the piles of clothes on the floor. Gilbert had the sudden ridiculous urge to sift through the mess in search of it.

It didn't _feel_ as if it had almost been a week, that was the problem. There was almost a worry eating at him, an urgency that something had to be achieved in the last two days before the clock struck midnight and the dress turned into a pumpkin. Oh, he couldn't say that he hadn't fulfilled his objective, but only because he wasn't entirely sure what his objective was or had been, because he thought there might have been a subtle shift in what he wanted from Roderich somewhere down the line. Whatever it was, he was pretty sure that progress had been made: boundaries had been erased and redrawn, walls had been torn down, and rules had been crushed underfoot.

And destruction was all very well (it was what Gilbert did best, after all), but then in the gaping, fragile space left behind – what then? Clearly something needed to be built to replace what had been there before, but that's a hard task when you don't know what you're building. It's the feat of a God who fashions men out of clay. Gilbert was no God; under his unskilled hands the clay would crumble, and no matter how gently and carefully he forced his fingers to sculpt, the shape he had worked so hard to achieve could still emerge from the kiln distorted and unrecognisable. And maybe in rage and despair he would smash it to pieces. But then again, even abstract art can portray the meanings and feelings poured into its creation if observed by the right pair of bottomless, violet eyes.

But whatever. It was far too early in the morning for intelligent thought, never mind intelligent thought in the form of literary metaphors, and so Gilbert's mind merely brushed against the edge of this idea before promptly forgetting it as he stepped on something sharp. "_Scheisse_," he swore, trying to balance on his uninjured foot and glaring down at where the mysterious object ought to be. He couldn't actually see it due to the other various items covering the floor, but he was confident that his anger would reach it and put the fear of Prussia into it.

When he was satisfied that he would no longer be attacked from below, Gilbert started to search for some clean, or at least clean_ish_, clothes to wear. He managed to locate some underwear that he was pretty sure hadn't been worn before, a pair of black jeans and a long-sleeved grey t-shirt that bore the legend of an obscure German rock band that even Ludwig had probably never heard of.

Now that he was decent (not that being decent was really a priority of Gilbert's, but other people tended to get upset if he wandered around without covering certain so-called inappropriate areas), he ventured out onto the landing. The rest of the house was quiet, and the atmosphere that lay over it gave the impression that the building itself was asleep. Gilbert smiled a little to himself. He liked peaceful atmospheres. They were more fun to destroy.

He entered the bathroom and plucked a toothbrush at random from the cup that rested on the sink. If Roderich knew how little attention he paid to whether he was using his own or not, there would probably be Words had about hygiene and such crap, but as far as Gilbert was concerned, if he was on kissing terms with somebody then there was no need to make a fuss about who used whose toothbrush. With that in mind, he didn't even bother to check whether he had grabbed the right one before using it, absentmindedly trying to tame a piece of hair that was sticking up in a Mariazellesque fashion. Clearly Roderich's hair was being a bad influence on his own. Gilbert had never quite understood what it was about nations in human form that caused strange flicks and curls of hair to blatantly disobey the laws of physics, but he would be damned if he let his own hair jump onto that particular bandwagon.

After finally forcing the stray lock of hair to admit defeat, Gilbert spat out the toothpaste victoriously and splashed some water onto his face to complete his morning ritual of Stuff That West Says I Have to Do. Now that he had acceptably gotten up, it was time for the best part of spending the night at Roderich's house: waking Roderich up.

Gilbert crept along the landing and carefully opened Roderich's bedroom door as quietly as he could. As usual, he had woken up before the other nation, who lay motionless on the bed, his soft breaths the only sound in the room. The same weak sunlight trickled in through the window, and even though it was still dim in the room, Gilbert suddenly found himself noticing the length of Roderich's eyelashes and the fullness of his lips. He padded like a cat over to the bed and then stood, taking the rare opportunity to just look at Roderich. It had been the third morning when he had first stopped and stared at the sleeping beauty on the bed, and since then it had become a habit. Vaguely, Gilbert thought that it was probably a little creepy to scrutinise someone as they slept, but it was so unusual for him to see a calm side of Roderich that he found it fascinating to witness the other nation's face when it wasn't adorned by an expression of annoyance or exasperation.

After a couple of moments, however, Gilbert mentally shook himself and snapped out of his trance. While looking was good, and he would never grow tired of looking at Roderich, there were better things that could be done when the Austrian was awake. Well, actually, some of the things that Gilbert was thinking of didn't require Roderich to be conscious _as such_, but since he wasn't entirely sure that it would be legal to do said things as Roderich slept, he supposed that he ought to wake the other nation up. Not that Gilbert had all that much respect for the law (he was _above_ the law, as he was constantly trying to convince West and, occasionally in the early hours of the morning after several drinks, police officers), but the last thing he needed right now was a restraining order when the aim of his master plan was on the tip of his tongue, teetering on the edge of his consciousness.

With this thought in mind, Gilbert bent over Roderich's still form, close enough that his breath touched the other nation's neck and he could feel Roderich's body heat on his lips. Then he closed the shred of distance that remained between them, kissing a path upwards from the juncture between neck and shoulder. He sucked lightly on the skin and Roderich made a small mewling noise in his sleep, shifting a little beneath the duvet. Gilbert allowed himself a small smirk before continuing, pressing his mouth to Roderich's neck more firmly now. He was rewarded with another incoherent noise that signalled Roderich's slow return to consciousness. It wasn't until he bit lightly on the shell of Roderich's ear, however, that the other nation managed to rouse himself enough to realise what was happening and press a hand weakly against Gilbert's chest in a frail, sleepy attempt to push him away. Gilbert was a little surprised at how pathetic the resistance was. Even when half asleep, Roderich was usually a lot more violent than this. He pulled back out of the other nation's personal space and grinned in the face of the bleary glare that was being directed at him.

"_Guten Morgan, Sonnenschein_," he said brightly. "You're not very with it this morning. Were you up late last night thinking about me?" He leered, but it was apparently too early in the morning for Roderich to spot innuendos because he merely looked a little confused and said, "No." Pushing the covers off his chest, he raised himself sluggishly to lean on his right forearm. There was something off about his movements, Gilbert considered, frowning slightly.

"I don't feel well," Roderich said, his voice still thick with sleep. Gilbert sat down on the bed and looked at him closely. From this angle he could see that Roderich's face was slightly flushed and his arm was trembling minutely under the weight of his upper body as if the strength had been drained out of it. Gilbert reached out and pushed on Roderich's shoulder experimentally. The other nation offered no resistance, practically collapsing back onto the mattress.

"I think," Gilbert said in the thoughtful tones of one who is about to solve the greatest of life's mysteries, "that you're ill." Roderich raised an eyebrow.

"Really?" he deadpanned. "What gave it away?" Apparently his sarcasm was still fully functional. How disappointing. However, instead of gratifying the other nation with a response, Gilbert placed his palm on Roderich's forehead instead. He wasn't happy with what he felt.

"You're pretty warm," he commented.

"I could have told you that," Roderich sighed, but he lifted his own hand to press it against Gilbert's, keeping it in place as he let his eyes slide shut. Gilbert waited for a second in case an explanation was forthcoming, but none materialised.

"Why are you holding my hand hostage?" he finally asked, giving in. He wondered if the fever had already turned Roderich's brains to mush; the brunet was acting strangely.

"Your skin's cold," Roderich mumbled. Gilbert frowned and tried to pull his hand away.

"Hey, I'm not your personal temperature control!" he protested. Roderich made a small, unhappy noise as Gilbert managed to reclaim his hand.

"You're always so mean to me," Roderich mumbled without opening his eyes. Gilbert felt an unprecedented sting of hurt at the words, although he wasn't sure why.

"No I'm not," he argued. "I'm looking after you now, aren't I?"

"Not really," Roderich replied. Then he sighed and opened his eyes again before trying to struggle into a sitting position. Gilbert immediately pushed him back down.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked.

"Getting up," Roderich replied. "I have things to do today." He tried to wriggle out from underneath Gilbert's firm hold that was doing a good job of keeping him pinned to the bed. "Gilbert, please! I have to get up."

"You're not going anywhere," Gilbert said firmly, leaning over Roderich so that their eyes met.

"But the chores –" Roderich tried to protest.

"I'll do them," Gilbert replied. Roderich looked at him doubtfully. "I'll do them," Gilbert insisted. "So you can stay here and sleep. Then you won't be able to complain that I don't treat you right," he added somewhat defiantly. Roderich looked at him for a long moment, Gilbert staring stubbornly back, and then he slumped back onto the mattress.

"Fine," he said, grudgingly admitting defeat. "I'll stay in bed today. But there's really no need for you to do the housework. I can catch up on it later."

"I said I'd do it so I'll do it," Gilbert replied. For some reason he suddenly had the desperate desire to prove himself. He wasn't _mean_. He was just occasionally highly amused by other peoples' misfortune (especially if said misfortune had been caused by him). Was that really so bad?

He was distracted from his indignation by Roderich reaching out and lightly taking hold of a small fold in the material of his top. Surprised, he glanced at the other nation, but judging by Roderich's distant expression, he was too deep in fever and tiredness to have any idea what he was doing.

"Thanks," he said quietly, and Gilbert leaned down to kiss him lightly on the lips. Roderich turned his head away. "If you do that, you'll get sick too," he chastised. Gilbert shrugged and kissed him on the temple instead, feeling the unnatural heat of the skin under his lips.

"I'm too awesome to get sick," he reassured the shorter nation, who closed his eyes again, barely awake.

"Mm," he managed, which Gilbert decided to interpret as 'of course, what was I thinking? You're far too sexy to get ill' and then Roderich's breathing evened out as he drifted back into oblivion and surreal, fever-induced dreams.

Gilbert watched the rise and fall of his chest with mild concern. He was thinking back to how Ivan had drugged them the day before. Could Roderich's fever be some sort of side effect of the drug? Of course, Gilbert himself had been doused with it and he was fine, but as he had said, his awesomeness was so great that it gave him immunity against everything. Idly, he stroked his fingers through Roderich's hair. Even Mariazell was drooping slightly. Gilbert frowned. Maybe he was worrying unnecessarily and Ivan's lie about cold and exertion hadn't been too far off the mark after all.

Either way, whatever was wrong with Roderich didn't seem to be too serious, and since Gilbert had volunteered to do the housework, he didn't have time to sit around doing nothing. He was already starting to regret his offer a little – he hated doing any kind of work – but he would look stupid if he refused to do it now when he had insisted. Besides, how hard could a few small chores be?

The answer, when it came several hours later, turned out to be: 'you should have let the man in the maid uniform handle it'. Gilbert was fairly indignant that an aristocrat who had never had to lift a finger for himself found such things so effortless whereas he, the pinnacle of everything manly and successful, was finding supposedly simple tasks rather more challenging and time-consuming than they really ought to be. It wasn't that he was causing rampant destruction – in fact, he was completely each task perfectly – but he wasn't finding it as easy as he had anticipated. The trouble was that he had a very short attention span. A mind as great as his needed constant stimulation – he was completely unsuited to menial labour such as this.

Therefore he was grateful to the distraction caused by the chime of the doorbell sometime shortly after one. Although Roderich hadn't mentioned that he was expecting anyone, Gilbert had stopped being surprised by uninvited visitors since they seemed to turn up every five minutes. It was probably because they had all heard that the mighty Prussia was staying here and they wanted to bask in his presence. Any other reasons were clearly just lies to cover their real intentions. They thought they were clever, but Gilbert was onto them.

So, when he opened the door to find Toris once again standing outside, he realised that he had somehow attained a number one fan who just couldn't stay away.

"Back so soon?" he asked, leaning casually against the doorframe.

"I'm on another errand for Ivan," Toris explained, looking bored at having to carry out the duties of a messenger boy. "He says that if you don't return what you stole then he's going to free all the faucets in Germany from their oppression under your brother and put them to good use in the Russian military." He sounded doubtful as to whether what he was saying actually made sense.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Gilbert replied, but the huge grin on his face betrayed the lie. "I would never steal so much as a bottle of vodka from Ivan. Well, OK," he relented at Toris' disbelieving look, "maybe I _would_ accidentally and completely unintentionally misplace a bottle of vodka in my pocket and unknowingly walk off with it, but that's different. Alcohol is magnetically attracted to me. No matter how hard I try to avoid it, it always turns up in the end."

"What about coats and scarves?" Toris asked, ignoring the total crap that was coming out of Gilbert's mouth. "Are they magnetically attracted to you as well?"

"Oh, there's nothing that can resist me," Gilbert replied in total seriousness. "It's my amazing sex appeal, you see. It's a curse as well as a blessing." Toris suddenly felt a deep, resounding pity for Ludwig, Roderich and anybody else unfortunate enough to have to spend more than five minutes of their life in this arrogant bastard's company.

"Can you please give me Ivan's things so I can leave?" he asked, trying not to let his irritation show.

"No," Gilbert replied pleasantly, taking rather an unhealthy amount of joy in denying Ivan his belongings. "As a matter of fact, I was planning on keeping them. Maybe I'll burn them on a cold night." He grinned at the thought.

"Do what you want," Toris replied, "but Ludwig isn't going to be too happy if Germany suddenly suffers a massive shortage of faucets. Who knows what he'd do to you if he found out that you were to blame." Gilbert hesitated and then glared.

"You wouldn't," he challenged. Toris looked him firmly in the eye.

"Try me," he said. A staring contest of epic proportions commenced, only to finish a few seconds later when Gilbert decided that maybe it wouldn't be wise to risk the source of all his finances for a scarf. He broke the eye contact, bitterly disappointed.

"I'll go and get them," he muttered before leaving Toris standing at the door. He found the coat in the lounge, draped over the sofa. The scarf had been neatly folded and placed on the coffee table. As Gilbert picked it up, something caught his eye and he turned to see a pair of scissors lying on the mantelpiece. Well, Toris had never said that Ivan's clothes had to be in one piece when they were returned…

"Don't even think about it," a voice reprimanded him as he was about to make the first cut. He jumped, almost injuring himself. Toris was standing in the doorway, eyeing him fiercely.

"Hey, don't you know it's rude to barge into other peoples' houses uninvited?" Gilbert said angrily, hiding the scissors behind his back. "And I'm not thinking about anything!"

"I can believe that," Toris deadpanned. He picked up Ivan's coat and draped it over his arm, then held out his hand for the scarf. Gilbert handed it over sulkily. "Thank you," Toris said. "By the way," he added, hesitating in the doorway of the lounge, "where's Roderich?"

"Upstairs," Gilbert replied, still sulking. "He's sick." Toris looked at him suspiciously. "He is!" Gilbert insisted. "It was nothing to do with me. Blame Ivan for _abducting_ him yesterday!" If the look on Toris' face was anything to go by, he hadn't heard anything about the events of the day before.

"In that case, I'll ask Feliks to have another little talk with Ivan about kidnapping and why he shouldn't do it," he said wearily, taking this new information in stride. After all, it wasn't the first time that Ivan had mistaken 'I said no, aru!' for 'yes, of course I'll become one with Russia, just let me pack my bags'. Meanwhile, Gilbert saw an opportunity for petty revenge.

"Why does Feliks have to do the dirty work?" he asked slyly. "Or are you just too busy quaking in your boots to say anything that Ivan might not want to hear?" Toris turned away, gritting his teeth in anger. Gilbert had effortlessly hit the nail right on the head.

"Don't be stupid," he snapped. "Although I know that must be hard for you. I'm only asking Feliks because his level of sanity is closer to Ivan's than mine is. There's less of a communication problem between them."

"Well that's definitely true," Gilbert agreed. "And that was a pretty good attempt at saving face – well done!" He laughed as Toris slammed the front door on his way out. It had been a low blow, but turning the tables on the Baltic State had cheered him up a considerable amount.

As he was in too much of a good mood to go back to doing chores, Gilbert decided that now would be a good time to check on Roderich, just to make sure that the other nation was still somewhat alive. He was quite disappointed that Roderich had gotten sick during the one week when he was bound to dress like a maid and obey Gilbert's every order. This was a once in a lifetime experience! And since the average life expectancy of a nation was several thousand years, that was really saying something.

In Roderich's bedroom, the curtains were still drawn, but the amount of sunlight sneaking in had increased. Gilbert tried not to make any noise as he entered, but, unfortunately, he had the same capacity for silence as a small child who has just been given a whistle by an insipidly stupid parent. As a result, he couldn't possibly _not_ trip over absolutely nothing and fall heavily to the floor. He blamed the lack of clutter as he sat cursing loudly at the pain in his backside. He never fell over in _his_ room where there was a sufficient amount of mess to make people think more carefully about where they were putting their feet.

"What are you doing?" a sleepy voice asked from somewhere above him. Shit, he had woken Roderich. That hadn't been part of his plan.

"I'm taking a holiday on your bedroom floor," he replied, getting to his feet. "The carpet's very nice at this time of year." Roderich stared at him from the bed, looking utterly bemused. "I was kidding," Gilbert added, just in case Roderich's fever-addled brain couldn't quite grasp the difference between reality and blatant lies at the moment.

"I'm ill, not stupid," Roderich replied, sounding half-amused and half-offended at Gilbert's underestimation of his mental ability. Even though he was finding it hard to think in a straight line, he would never admit it. "What time is it?"

"About half one," Gilbert guessed. He moved over to the bed and pressed a hand lightly to the other's forehead to check his temperature. It was still too warm to be healthy. "Want me to get you something to eat?" he offered. Roderich considered the question and then shook his head.

"No thank you. Eating would require far too much effort," he mumbled. Gilbert laughed.

"Then I'll leave you to starve," he replied, and turned to go, but his attempts to leave were thwarted as a hand grabbed his wrist and pulled him backwards with surprising force. He half fell, half sat onto the bed. "What?" he asked, turning to look at Roderich with mild confusion. "Did you change your mind already?"

"No," Roderich replied. He tugged on Gilbert's wrist again, but more weakly now, trying to bring him closer. "Stay here for a minute." Well this was odd.

"Why should I?" Gilbert asked.

"I want to ask you something," Roderich explained. His eyelids drooped as he fought against sleep. Gilbert, intrigued, stretched out on the bed and propped his head up on his palm, making himself comfortable.

"OK," he said. "Shoot."

"Why did you do this?" Roderich mumbled. Gilbert raised an eyebrow as if to say 'you're going to have to be more specific'. "The dress," Roderich expanded. "This whole week. What exactly were you hoping to achieve?" Gilbert opened his mouth to give the obvious answer, then hesitated. Then he dispelled his doubts and continued.

"Sex," he said bluntly. A gnawing feeling started in the back of his mind, protesting that no, no, sex was only _part_ of it.

"It seems like a lot of trouble just for sex," Roderich replied sceptically, although his voice was starting to slur from tiredness.

"Well I didn't really think beyond the short term aim," Gilbert said without thinking.

"There's a long term aim as well?" Roderich asked. Gilbert paused, wanting to say yes and not knowing why. This was what had been bugging him that morning and he was still none the wiser.

"I don't know," he admitted, figuring that Roderich probably wouldn't even remember this conversation later. "I haven't quite worked that one out yet."

"Knowing you, it's probably 'more sex'," Roderich said wryly. Gilbert laughed loudly. That wasn't the answer niggling in the back of his head, but it certainly wasn't something he would turn down.

"That's a great idea!" he said gleefully, grinning. However, Roderich didn't look amused.

"No," he said quietly, and he sounded unusually sombre. "It's not." While the response didn't surprise Gilbert at all, the tone of voice did.

"Why not?" he asked, unsure why there had been such a sudden shift in Roderich's mood. "It sounds pretty good to me." Roderich curled up more and let his eyes finally succumb to the force that pulled them shut.

"I don't like that idea," he managed to mumble so quietly that Gilbert barely caught the words, then he sighed softly and drifted back to sleep. Gilbert frowned, resisting the urge to wake the other nation again and ask him exactly what was wrong with having a lot of sex.

"Typical," he muttered under his breath. Of course Roderich would fall asleep just as things were getting interesting. Not that it was rare for Roderich to play hard to get, of course, but the strange thing that Gilbert had noticed was that Roderich hadn't complained at all when the short term aim had been mentioned. What did _that_ signify? Whatever it was, it had left Gilbert feeling slightly uneasy, although, like many of his feelings recently, he had no idea why. What did he _want_ from Roderich, goddamnit? What did either of them want?

Frustrated and not in the mood to go back to work, Gilbert stayed where he was, staring unhappily down at Roderich. A cliché was ringing in his head: 'I've never felt this way before'. But that was stupid, that was ridiculous. It was also true in a literal sense. He had never felt such an insecure jealousy over another person before, never felt such a strong protective instinct, never felt a force like gravity pulling him as it was pulling him now, dragging him closer to Roderich. He brushed their lips together so lightly that it was like kissing a feather, and it made him feel broken as if he had somehow misplaced the axis of his entire world.

Suddenly feeling weak and lethargic, Gilbert lay down properly on the bed, but it wasn't enough. There was too much space between himself and the sleeping body facing him. Gently and hesitantly as a child taking his first steps, Gilbert moved closer, resting his forehead against Roderich's chest and sliding an arm around the other nation's waist. He was terrified that Roderich would wake up and find him there, but he could no more move away than he could fly. Their closeness calmed him and made him feel safe. He had been working hard all through the morning, he reasoned sleepily, it was time for a break. He would just stay here for a moment and rest his eyes. Just for a moment. Just for a…

***

There was the soft click of a door closing. A drawer slid open; a pause of silence, and then it closed. The sheets were soft and cool under his skin. Soft and cool and…empty.

Gilbert's eyes snapped open. Oh shit. He had fallen asleep, and for quite a long time judging by the strength of the sun and the depth of the shadows. What really caught his attention, however, was the distinct lack of Roderich on the bed. He bit his lip as he remembered the position he had fallen asleep in. Great. Just great. How was he going to explain –?

"Oh sorry," came Roderich's voice from somewhere behind him. "I didn't mean to wake you."

Gilbert warily sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Roderich was stood paused in the act of putting several neatly folded shirts back into a drawer. He was wearing the dress and looked a lot fresher and healthier than he had done earlier. He hadn't opened the curtains and the little sunlight in the room felt heavy, giving the room a calm, almost surreal atmosphere. Gilbert felt as though he had been tugged out of one dream straight into another.

"I didn't mean to fall asleep," he explained, painfully aware that there was a silent question in Roderich's gaze about why he had been curled around the other nation in the first place. He pretended not to see it and studiously avoided eye contact. Roderich accepted his inability to answer complacently and turned to finish putting away the shirts.

"Don't worry about it," he replied in an unusually gentle tone. Gilbert felt his stomach clench with fear, or maybe hope, that Roderich understood why he had found comfort in their closeness; why he had needed it more than he had needed his heart to beat.

"How do you feel?" he asked, noting that although Roderich looked better, there was still a slight flush on his cheeks.

"Much better," Roderich assured him. "I had a shower and some food and now I feel fine." Glancing over at the clock, Gilbert saw that it was almost eight in the evening.

"How long have you been up?" he asked, shocked at how long he had slept for.

"A while," Roderich replied vaguely, shutting the drawer and moving towards the window.

"You should have stayed in bed for longer," Gilbert chastised. "You can't get over a fever in less than a day. If you were hungry, you should have woken me and I'd have got you something."

"And trust you with my kitchen?" Roderich teased. Gilbert was about to defend his culinary skills when Roderich grasped the curtains and pulled them open, finally letting in the burst of sunlight that had been longing to fill the room with its warmth all day. Roderich closed his eyes briefly against the glare of the sun, now low in the sky, and then turned back to Gilbert. His lips curved shyly into one of his rare, genuine smiles and Gilbert's words died in his throat. His first thought was that the light was like a halo, but that was wrong: _Roderich_ was the halo. The sunlight merely accentuated his beauty, making it look almost ethereal, because – and the realisation hit Gilbert with the force of worlds colliding – Roderich _was_ beautiful. Truly beautiful. Heart-stoppingly, mind-blowingly, breath-takingly, world-rockingly beautiful. How had he never noticed before?

Almost unaware of what he was doing, Gilbert slid off the bed and stood up. He felt as though something hot and unstoppable like emotion made molten was filling up his chest. He saw something flicker in Roderich's eyes and wondered if he felt it too. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a thought drifted lazily along the edge of his consciousness; something about filling empty spaces and sculpting clay into what forever would look like if it had physical form. But then he was at the window too, cupping Roderich's face in his hands and kissing him and tasting forever in his mouth, and Roderich was holding him tightly and his arms felt like devotion.

All the desire they had been holding in suddenly came to a head as clothes were cast to the floor, skin desperately seeking skin. Even the dress wasn't given a second glance. Roderich's glasses were dropped carelessly onto the windowsill and Gilbert was pressing their bodies together, whispering into Roderich's ear, trying to tell him how beautiful he was.

Somehow they made it over to the bed, tumbling onto the sheets, not pausing their kisses or touches, unable to keep their hands away from each other. Each time a gap appeared between their bodies, one of them moved to fill it, craving the heat and the passion that came with it. Then the plea for more fell from Roderich's lips in a sweet gasp and Gilbert complied, kissing Roderich's thighs before lifting them up, slicking his fingers and sliding them into Roderich's body. And God, but he had wanted this: to hear Roderich's breath catch and turn into moans, to see the need, no longer hidden, in his eyes, and to know that there was something deeper than lust exhaling with his breath.

Roderich gasped Gilbert's name as the other nation entered him, and Gilbert let his eyes drink in the sight of the body trembling beneath him as he paused to give Roderich time to adjust to this new level of intimacy. Roderich reached up a hand to stroke tenderly and hesitantly along Gilbert's jaw, and Gilbert turned into it, kissing the palm as gently as if he were worshipping it. Then he was moving above Roderich, over him, _inside_ him, like the tide that is powerless to resist the pull of the moon. Roderich's arms clung to his shoulders, and with each thrust of Gilbert's hips, the world around them became steadily more meaningless, the pleasure connecting them more and more intense.

When orgasm came, it was like colours exploding; like fireworks pinwheeling under the skin and sparks of white hot heat colliding with live electricity. It was the jerk of the hips and the arch of the spine; it was toes curling, fingers tightening, a wordless cry, and Roderich's name lingering on Gilbert's tongue before falling free as a honeyed note of bliss.

And then Gilbert collapsed onto the sheets, his breath still coming in pants but starting to slow. His hand found Roderich's and he intertwined their fingers as they lay still for a moment, recovering side by side on the bed. Then Roderich turned towards him and drew their joined hands to his chest, curling his other arm around them. And Gilbert looked into his eyes with a sort of wonder, gently tracing Roderich's cheekbone with his fingers and feeling the shape of the future he hadn't known he wanted.

Outside, the sun dropped another inch in the sky and the tinge of pink on the clouds grew deeper, as if they had fallen into fever.

**Translations of German Word and Phrases**

_Scheisse -_ shit (also written as Scheiße)

_Guten Morgan, Sonnenschein_ - Good morning, sunshine

**You know what would make me really happy? If you guys left me a review, because when I'm feeling uninspired I read the reviews to make me feel more motivated. And with all the schoolwork I've been getting recently, I really need some motivation! (Though thanks to all the people who watch and favourite this too - you guys make me feel so loved).**


	10. Chapter Nine

**A/N - First of all, thank you guys so so much for all the lovely reviews you left me last chapter. I didn't expect to get many more than usual but I got loads and it made me feel really happy to hear your feedback! I love you guys, you're all so awesome! Also, I apologise for the German typo in the last chapter. Thanks to the people who pointed that out to me! This chapter is once again beta'd by Amethyst DragonRider, though apparently I can only blame English typos on her now lol. Oh well. And I got two pieces of awesome fanart from the lovely Neko6 from LJ, so you should go click on the link in my bio and go look at it because it's really good. And now, I hope you enjoy the next chapter.**

It had been a while since Gilbert had woken up to feel the comfortable warmth of another body sleeping beside him in bed. At first, as he lazily slipped between the realms of consciousness, he couldn't quite process the light weight of the arm curled slackly around his chest, but then he felt Roderich's breath on his shoulder and the events of the day before sparked in his head like a light bulb. The memories sent a pleasant rush of heat from his chest right down to his fingers and toes, and he turned his head to see Roderich lying close beside him, his eyes closed and his expression peaceful. Mariazell lightly tickled Gilbert's nose and he gently blew it away from his face.

Tearing his eyes away from his bed partner, Gilbert glanced over at the clock on the bedside cabinet and was surprised to see that it was already past nine. Although he supposed that it wasn't too strange that he had rested well after the previous evening. The room was still gloomy and Gilbert didn't have to look outside to know that there would be clouds covering the sky. It was as though the brilliant sunshine of yesterday, after being thoroughly ignored by Gilbert in favour of Roderich, had stormed off to sulk somewhere. It was a little known fact (that is, unknown to anyone except Gilbert) that even nature itself was utterly besotted with the embodiment of Prussia, unable to resist the aura of pure awesome that radiated from him at all times. So it was no surprise to Gilbert that the sun was acting like a jealous lover (though no doubt it had been slyly watching through the window as Gilbert had finally tasted the pleasure in Roderich's gasps and breathed in the softness of his thighs), and so Gilbert merely shook his head pityingly and lamented with an appropriate amount of martyrdom that being utterly irresistible had its downsides.

These humble thoughts were interrupted, however, by Roderich sighing in his sleep and nuzzling against Gilbert's shoulder. It was ever so slightly adorable, Gilbert considered, and he placed one of his hands lightly over the one of Roderich's that lay on his chest. The same feeling he had felt yesterday rose up inside him, but now he understood what it meant. A part of him wanted to name it with a four letter word, but the rest of him recoiled; it was enough that he had recognised and acknowledged it, surely, without having to attribute a _word_ to it. No, it was best to take things one tiny baby step at a time. Besides, it was impossible that everything he felt could fit into four letters. Four letters would crumble and splinter to pieces under the strain of it all. Really, it was better for the health of the alphabet if he just understood and left it at that.

There was movement in the bed beside him, and Roderich made a small noise as consciousness tugged at his mind. Gilbert felt eyelashes flutter against his skin, and he lightly stroked the back of Roderich's hand, trailing his fingers down the rest of his arm. Roderich moved his head back slightly so that his face was no longer buried in Gilbert's shoulder.

"_Morgen_," he murmured sleepily, and Gilbert was struck by how unfazed the other nation was by what was potentially a fairly awkward situation. Not that Gilbert generally found the morning after awkward, but the fact that it was _him_ and _Roderich_ created amazing potential for embarrassment and denial. But Roderich seemed perfectly at ease, as if he woke up next to Gilbert every day.

"Hi there," Gilbert replied, and suddenly realised that he had no idea of how he should act or what he should do. He had never been in this situation and actually _cared_ about the other person before. Well, maybe he had cared a little about some of the people he had slept with, but never like this. This was new and alien territory to him, and the fact that it didn't seem to be for Roderich threw him off kilter even more.

"It's Sunday today," Roderich said suddenly, as if a thought had just occurred to him. Gilbert frowned, failing to comprehend the significance of the day of the week. "It's the last day I have to dress up as a maid," Roderich explained.

"I think you should wear it for an extra day," Gilbert said, hoping that some normal banter would make him feel more at ease. "Since you barely wore it yesterday."

"That wasn't my fault!" Roderich protested. "And, actually, I wore it for a couple of hours, but you slept through it."

"Of course it's your fault," Gilbert argued. "If you hadn't been so intent on providing the she-devil with a weapon of mass destruction, you would never have got sick. Speaking of that…" He rolled over onto his side to face Roderich, whose arm slid off his chest at the movement, and placed his palm on the other nation's forehead. He paused, the uneasy feeling stirring inside him anew. "You're still too warm," he said.

"Well you _did_ say that it was impossible for me to get over a fever in a day," Roderich reminded him. "Naturally I'm not fully better yet. I apologise in advance if I've made you sick too," he added with unusual consideration.

"Didn't I already tell you that I'm too awesome to get sick?" Gilbert replied. He sat up and slid off the bed. "I'm going to have a shower. You stay here and try not to get even more ill." Roderich frowned at him and sat up as well.

"I'm well enough to get up," he protested. "Or," he continued in a lower, more enticing voice, reaching out to pull gently on Gilbert's arm, "we could both stay in bed." Gilbert let himself be tugged down to meet Roderich's lips, lured by the promises in the other nation's tone, but then he felt the unnatural heat radiating from Roderich's skin and pulled back. Roderich looked confused by this unusual show of restraint.

"I'm not going to have sex with a sick person," Gilbert explained. He did have _some_ morals, after all, even if he didn't often choose to apply them.

"You already did," Roderich pointed out.

"I made a mistake," Gilbert said, and was so caught up in his own thoughts that he barely registered the slightly alarmed expression that appeared on Roderich's face at his words. "I'm going for a shower," he repeated, and turned to leave without a single glance back. He didn't want to see the brunet's faintly flushed face and recognise the fever that had caused Roderich to act so strangely the day before. The same fever that had still been affecting him when he had given himself to Gilbert. The same fever that had a hold on him now.

By the time Gilbert was standing under the jet of hot water that beat down almost unnoticed on his skin, there was a hugely uncomfortable feeling in his stomach, as if his organs were being twisted and knotted together. All he could think of was how obviously the fever had been influencing Roderich's mind yesterday; how he hadn't been thinking straight and whether when he became better he would realise that he hadn't really wanted to sleep with Gilbert. Maybe he would think that Gilbert had taken advantage of him, because this was how Gilbert was starting to feel. He hadn't _intended_ to, of course not; he would never do such a thing – not when it had actually _meant_ something to him. Not when he had realised that _Roderich_ maybe possible might just mean something to him.

A sharp smack rang out as he slammed his fist against the tiles. It caused a dull pain to resound through his knuckles but he barely noticed it. Why couldn't he have held back until he was sure that the emotion he had thought he'd seen in Roderich's eyes was genuine? He hadn't intended to try and tempt the brunet into bed yesterday, but there was had been a force like magnetism that had gripped him out of the blue and stirred a need in him so powerful that he couldn't even imagine _not_ giving actions to his emotions. Even now he couldn't bring himself to regret what they had done together, and that made him feel even worse.

When Gilbert finally emerged from the shower, he didn't return to Roderich's room, choosing instead to enter his own bedroom in search of some fresh clothes. Admittedly he was too distressed to bother checking the garments to determine whether or not they were actually clean, but since he didn't immediately wrinkle his nose in disgust and wonder what had died, he deemed them acceptable. As he stepped out again onto the landing, he paused, debating on whether he had the nerve to look at Roderich again before deciding that of course he had the nerve, he _always_ had the nerve to do _everything_. It was just that he didn't actually _want_ to see Roderich right now. It was so late in the morning that if he didn't have breakfast soon, it would be too close to lunchtime and he would starve. Therefore the only logical thing to do was to head downstairs to the kitchen.

And head to the kitchen he did. The only sounds in the house were his footsteps on the stairs and then on the linoleum of the room he had made such a mess of earlier in the week. He couldn't hear any movement from upstairs and wondered if Roderich had obeyed him and stayed in bed, but then came a faint rush of water from the shower and it became apparent that Roderich was doing no such thing. It wasn't really a surprise – Gilbert never expected Roderich to do anything he said (which was why this week had been such a novelty), much like how Roderich never expected Gilbert to obey _anyone_. That just wasn't how they worked.

The twisted feeling in Gilbert's gut was so bad by this point that even though he was quite hungry, he could only bring himself to nibble half-heartedly at a slice of toast. He kept thinking that it wasn't supposed to have happened this way; it was supposed to have been right and perfect and happily ever after or however these things generally went. Gilbert wasn't exactly an expert in the field of…this, but he had a basic grasp of what a happy ending was supposed to look like (although he would rather die than ride off into some overrated sunset like a living, breathing cliché. The very idea made him feel physically ill) and this wasn't it. Ludwig had once sat him down and given him a very firm talk about what it meant to be consensual after hearing some of Francis' ideas on the subject. He had been worried that, since Gilbert and Francis were so close, Gilbert might pick up the idea that it was perfectly acceptable to provide Arthur with gratuitous amounts of alcohol for the sole purpose of seducing him when he was too drunk to know any better. (Although Ludwig really needn't have bothered. Arthur had long ago realised that drinking while Francis was in the vicinity was a very stupid thing to do and had appointed Gilbert as official cockblocker to make sure that Francis couldn't have his wicked way, or at least not without a lot of cunning). Therefore, Gilbert knew that having sex with someone who was suffering from a mind-altering fever was Not An OK Thing To Do. And he had done it anyway because he had momentarily forgotten everything except his own desire. Goddamnit.

When Roderich finally entered the kitchen, Gilbert had given up on the toast and was holding it, barely touched and cold, as if he had forgotten that it was even still in his hand. He didn't look round when he heard the slow, hesitant footsteps or even when Roderich addressed him.

"Gilbert, are you all right?" Roderich asked, and Gilbert wondered if it was really that obvious that he wasn't.

"Of course," he replied, trying not to sound as if he were lying. Not too blatantly anyway. He attempted to look as though he were intently fascinated by the toaster, but then Roderich gently touched him on the arm and he had no choice but to turn and look at him. Now that he had realised that Roderich was achingly beautiful, he couldn't un-notice it, and so he felt his heart tugged against his ribcage as if it were trying to move closer to the vision of warm skin and worried violet eyes clothed in the dress that Gilbert had picked out for him, hair still slightly damp from the shower. Gilbert had the sudden unbelievably strong urge to touch him, to hold him, and it was so hard to resist just reaching out and doing so that he felt as though pieces of him were crumbling and splintering until they had broken away completely, shattering as they hit the ground.

"Are you sure?" Roderich asked, and it was painfully obvious that he knew he was being lied to but was giving Gilbert a second chance to answer because he was genuinely concerned. Gilbert watched the chance fly past him and disappear like a ghost.

"Of-" his voice broke a little and he tried to cover it by clearing his throat. "Of course I'm sure; I'd know if I wasn't OK, wouldn't I?" If anything, Roderich looked even more unconvinced now than he had done before, and Gilbert had to tear his eyes away before the guilt showed too clearly in his gaze. He crossed the room silently to throw the remains of his toast into the bin, and as he turned to leave the room, he accidentally caught sight of the expression of confused misery on Roderich's face. The thought that maybe Roderich was starting to realise he had made a mistake flashed instantly in Gilbert's head, and suddenly he couldn't take it anymore. He practically fled from the room.

***

It was quarter to two in the afternoon and Roderich was just about ready to curl up and surrender in his battle against self-pity. At first, he hadn't been able to understand why Gilbert was acting so strangely, but now he was having to try very hard not to acknowledge the very obvious reason that had steadily been getting clearer and clearer throughout the day. The reason he was trying so hard to ignore was the possibly that Gilbert had got what he wanted and had now lost interest in Roderich altogether. Really, Roderich knew that the thought shouldn't upset him so much; after all, he had spent most of his life wishing that Gilbert would just leave him alone, but now that his once-deemed impossible dreams were coming true, the only thing he wanted was to rekindle Gilbert's at times almost obsessive fascination with him. He had never wanted it to end in admittedly amazing but absolutely meaningless sex. All right, he had been in denial about what he _really_ wanted, but he was now ready to consider the possibility that he might actually have feelings for Gilbert. However, if he admitted that to himself now, when Gilbert was using some rather impressive excuses to avoid even being in the same room as him, he had the feeling that a certain vital organ located between his lungs would break.

He had been so sure that there was something more between them; that was what made it so hard to accept that maybe Gilbert had been after nothing more than sex all along. Roderich had taken careful note of how the other nation acted around him (while all the while trying to fool himself into thinking that he wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention as to whether Gilbert was slyly eying him up or not) and he had thought he had recognised emotions that had at first worried him until eventually he had found himself feeling the same way. Recently, he had even found himself taking it for granted that something would eventually happen between them. Well, _something_ had happened all right – it just hadn't led to the other parts of the story that Roderich had been expecting and maybe even hoping for.

And so it was that now, as Roderich walked into the lounge only for Gilbert, who had been sprawled on the couch reading a magazine, to get up immediately and try to leave as casually as possible (and fail dismally), Roderich felt the rejection as a physical twang of pain in his chest.

"You can go home if you're bored of staying here," he said, and it felt as though his voice was coming from miles away, spoken by someone who wasn't trying desperately not to fall apart. Gilbert paused and looked at him in surprise.

"I never said I was bored," he protested.

"You don't have to," Roderich replied, wondering how he could manage to sound so calm when everything was wrong, wrong, wrong. "I'm just reminding you that no one's forcing you to stay here. This was all your idea in the first place, so if you've lost interest, I won't stop you from going home." Something flickered in Gilbert's eyes and he suddenly looked unsure.

"Are you trying to kick me out?" he asked suspiciously.

"Aren't I always?" Roderich replied without thinking. It came naturally to him to make quick, dry comebacks when speaking to Gilbert, and the habit was so ingrained that it was easy to fall back on it now. Maybe if he acted the way he always did, it wouldn't hurt so much to watch everything he had hoped for smash into pieces like the fall of an empire before his eyes.

"Hey, don't forget we had a deal," Gilbert reminded him. "Who would make sure you wore that –" he gestured towards the dress, "-if I left?" For some reason, Gilbert's seemingly light-hearted attitude struck a nerve in Roderich and he felt his pain give way to anger.

"But this isn't about the dress anymore, is it?" he asked quietly, and it was as if he had spoken a forbidden magic word: the kind that wipes whole civilisations off the face of the world in an instant. The atmosphere in the room thickened until Roderich considered it a miracle that neither of them were choking on the tension.

"No," Gilbert said quietly, "I guess it's not." It was as though neither of them wanted to be the first to say it; to shape their mouths around the three letter word that hung in the air between them. There was a silence so full of communication that the air almost collapsed under the weight of it all, and Roderich slowly shook his head.

"Just leave," he said, and turned to exit the room, feeling as though he had had a beautiful flower growing inside him but he had nurtured it too much and not carefully enough, and so now it had died because of his own love for it.

"That's it?" Gilbert demanded behind him, and Roderich paused at the angry tone in the other nation's voice. "We've gone through all this and that's it? I'm not saying I did the right thing, because I didn't, but you don't need to get like this about it." Roderich felt his fists clench involuntarily.

"Like what exactly?" he asked in a cold enough tone that it could have caused winter to shrivel away to a warmer place.

"You shouldn't have to ask," Gilbert said, "Or is fucking someone then going ice queen on their ass such an everyday routine that you don't even realise you're doing it anymore?" Roderich whirled around, his face flushed with rage, meeting Gilbert's acid glare with his own.

"How dare you?" he demanded furiously. "You were the one who started this! If you didn't want it to end this way then you shouldn't have slept with me." Gilbert's lip curled into a sneer.

"And get nothing at all out of this?" he asked, and there was pain in his words, drowned deep beneath the anger. "I don't think so. Not when the only thing you're good for is a fuck."

And there: he had said it, and everything that Roderich had feared was slicing through his skin with teeth and claws and malice; shattering his ribs, puncturing his lungs, reaching for the most precious part of him and ripping, tearing, crushing, mutilating. Breaking.

He was vaguely aware through the pain and the shock and the lump in his throat and the tears in his eyes that Gilbert's expression had changed, but he didn't want Gilbert to see him shatter and fall. More than that, he didn't want Gilbert to see him cry, because the levees in his eyes had broken too. Turning, he fled blindly, not knowing where he was going but needing to escape.

"Roderich, wait!" Gilbert was following him, but Roderich didn't stop or look back. Somehow, he reached the back door and flung it open, running out into the garden, but then there were arms around his waist, restraining him, and he was forced to stop.

"Let go of me!" he managed to say through the sobs that were horrifyingly clear in his voice. He ripped Gilbert's arms away from him, but didn't try to run again. What would be the point? Instead, he merely took several steps and stood facing out towards the garden, drab and dull under the cloud-filled sky.

"I didn't mean it," Gilbert said desperately, and the raw panic in his tone was almost a comfort after the harsh anger from before. "I didn't mean any of it! I don't – I didn't – I…shit, Roderich, I don't really think that about you!"

"You don't have to lie to me," Roderich said, and he sounded defeated and hopeless. "At least now I know where I stand, so –"

"No, no, you don't get it!" Gilbert protested, and his voice was becoming increasingly distraught. "I wasn't even angry with you, I was angry with myself and I took it out on you. I didn't mean anything I said, I was just trying to hurt you and it was wrong and I'm – and I'm sorry!" Something about the way he forced out the apology as if it were trying to fight to stay in his throat made Roderich feel slightly calmer. He had never before heard Gilbert make a genuine apology, but the rush of words that had just left his mouth seemed to cut a red hot streak in the air in the shape of guilt and a plea for forgiveness.

"Why were you angry with yourself?" Roderich asked quietly. He raised a hand to wipe the tears from his eyes now that they had ceased their flow, but his glasses were in the way. He took them off and let them fall unceremoniously to the ground, transforming the world around him into a fuzzy blur of dark, muted colours.

"Because you were sick yesterday and you weren't in your right mind," Gilbert tried to explain, and his words were still being forced into the open, tumbling out in fast, ragged breaths. "Then this morning I thought that maybe I'd taken advantage of you in your moment of weakness and I didn't _mean_ to and I didn't _want_ to, but –"

"That's why," Roderich interrupted, "you were avoiding me today?" The pieces were clicking together in his head and he turned round to face Gilbert, hoping to see the truth in his eyes, but he was too far away and his glasses were lying on the grass, so he couldn't see Gilbert's expression.

"Yes," Gilbert admitted. As Roderich stared at him, looking but not quite able to see, a gentle patter of rain started to fall from the sky. A couple of raindrops landed on Roderich's cheeks, but they didn't feel like tears; they felt like the balm that could wash away his grief.

"I thought you were acting that way because you'd only wanted sex and you'd got it," he said, and was suddenly relieved that he couldn't see Gilbert's expression. It made honesty easier than if he had been able to watch the reaction to his words. "I thought you didn't care anymore." At these words, Gilbert came towards him with stilted, halting movements, unsure of how to act in the situation but trying so hard, Roderich knew, because although this was difficult for them both, neither of them were willing to let the other slip through their fingers and vanish like the half-formed memory of a dream.

"That's not true," Gilbert said, denying Roderich's fears, and now he was close enough that Roderich could see him clearly. On his face were all the uncertainties and struggles and suffering that he had been trying to hide, and Roderich suddenly realised that he had already forgiven him without even noticing. He stepped forward and slowly put his arms around Gilbert, kissing him gently and hesitantly on the shoulder.

"I'm glad," he replied softly as Gilbert's arms slid around him uncertainly in return and the rain hit him lightly on his bare legs. "And you don't have to worry," he murmured near Gilbert's ear, "because I knew exactly what I was doing yesterday and I know exactly what I'm doing now." He leaned back and brushed his lips tenderly against Gilbert's, giving him a kiss as gentle as the lyrics of a love song, and Gilbert's arms tightened around him. Somewhere far away, a peal of thunder rumbled gently in the sky. Above them, a cloudburst rained down from Heaven, sending torrents of blessed relief to the earth that would turn the world grey for an afternoon but later, much later, when the sky was blue again, would sink into the ground and help the flowers to grow.


	11. Chapter Ten

**A/N - Happy New Year, guys! I'd like to apologise for the amount of time it took me to write this chapter. I had a real block with it for some reason and re-wrote parts of it numerous times. However, I'm finally happy with it, so here you go! Duties is officially completed! Since I last updated I've had three more pieces of amazing fanart from TerryxRage, ravenspine21 and Kettenkrad - the link to all of them is on my bio, go check them out! Also, thank you SO much to Amethyst DragonRider for beta-ing the last few chapters - you're amazing and I'm so grateful to you! And now, happy reading for the last chapter of my baby. I'm going to miss Maid!Roderich...**

It was the weak dawn light that woke Roderich on the day after the Week From Hell had finally come to an end. He wondered groggily as he lay, still half asleep, whether he should stop thinking about it in that way and perhaps refer to it by a different name. It was true that a lot of the week had been exasperating and humiliating, but at the same time…perhaps it had been worth it.

Maybe it was strange, Roderich thought now, but he actually wasn't surprised that they had ended up like this. He could feel the comforting heat that radiated from Gilbert's chest on his back, the other nation lying close to him but not quite close enough to touch. One of Gilbert's arms was wrapped loosely around his chest, and Roderich was content to lie still and listen to the gentle breathing behind him as Gilbert slept. They hadn't had sex again the night before, but Gilbert had turned up at Roderich's bedroom door and Roderich had invited him in. It had felt a little awkward at first, but then Gilbert had made a crude comment as Roderich had got undressed, and something like normality had settled in the air between them. It had left Roderich wondering why things couldn't have been simpler.

Now, however, thinking back on their history, Roderich realised that it would have been stupid to expect anything involving the two of them to be easy. He clasped Gilbert's hand with both of his and wondered if the pulse he could feel in his fingers was Gilbert's or his own, or maybe both, beating in perfect harmony just for a moment. He stroked along the pale skin from the bitten fingernails to the wrist and pressed his palm against Gilbert's, stretching his fingers to try and make their hands the same size. Behind him, the gentle pattern of Gilbert's breathing changed slightly as the Prussian awoke.

"What are you doing to my hand?" came a mildly amused question, voice still husky with sleep. Roderich flicked one of Gilbert's fingers lightly.

"Just playing with it," he replied.

"Oh, I can think of something you can _play_ with that's much better than a hand," Gilbert replied, and Roderich considered it quite impressive that he could make such a suggestive remark when he had been awake for less than a minute. Not that Roderich would ever admit to this out loud, of course. He wouldn't want to _encourage_ Gilbert after all. But then the other nation seemed to wake up a little more and realise what he had said, because Roderich felt him tense slightly, still uneasy about where they stood with each other now: about how they should act, and what they should say. Really, Roderich couldn't blame him after the misunderstanding they'd had yesterday.

"You don't have to worry," he said, addressing Gilbert's unspoken thoughts. "I promise not to jump to the wrong conclusions if you act like a moron again." Gilbert hit him lightly on the arm, so lightly that it was more of a gentle tap than a hit. Roderich frowned.

"I'm not a moron!" Gilbert protested, and Roderich practically felt him choke back the insult he would normally have thrown back at Roderich.

In response to the lack of banter, Roderich rolled over so that he was facing Gilbert. Then he glared. If someone had asked him a week ago whether he would miss Gilbert's taunting and insults, he would have laughed them out of Europe. Now, however, he found himself slightly annoyed at being treated as though he were so fragile that a single innuendo could shatter him. At the same time, he understood that Gilbert didn't want a repeat of the day before, but really, this was taking things too far. It was downright _weird_.

"Could you stop acting as though you're walking on eggshells?" he asked. "It's making me uncomfortable and it's in no way necessary." Gilbert looked as though he were about to make another cagey reply, but Roderich cut him off, this time in a softer tone: "I appreciate that you're trying, but you don't have to act like a totally different person." Gilbert turned away, unable to hold eye contact.

"It's not like it's for your benefit," he muttered, and the lie was so huge that Roderich laughed out loud. He leant closer to softly kiss Gilbert's cheek as the other nation fidgeted uncomfortably.

"I don't know what to do," Gilbert suddenly blurted out. "I've never been in – I mean…" He fought desperately to salvage the sentence. "I mean, I've never been in this situation before. Not _this_ one," he clarified, eyes flicking pointedly to the bed before darting away again to study the ceiling, the walls, anything. "But…_this_…" He brought his hand up to card his fingers through Roderich's hair, quickly and briefly as if scared of the point he was trying to make. Roderich placed a hand on his shoulder, stroking his thumb comfortingly against Gilbert's collar bone. He couldn't stay exasperated when he was seeing a genuinely vulnerable side of Gilbert. It wasn't something that he witnessed often, but it opened up a level of intimacy between them that ran far deeper than anything sex could achieve.

"There aren't a set of rules you need to follow," he said gently. "Just act the way you normally do." Gilbert frowned, clearly contemplating this admittedly cliché advice.

"I don't normally sleep in the same bed as you," he pointed out. "Or kiss you or –" Roderich placed a hand over Gilbert's mouth before he could list every single thing they had done in the last week that they didn't normally do.

"OK," Roderich amended, "Just do what comes naturally then." Gilbert considered this too, and Roderich removed his hand.

"So…" Gilbert said slowly, "if I want to touch you…?"

"You can," Roderich consented, and Gilbert's hand moved from resting lightly around Roderich's chest to cup the other nation's cheek lightly, as if he were testing out a new experiment that would turn lead into gold if it succeeded and blow up in his face if it failed.

"And if I wanted to…" His eyes flickered down to Roderich's shirtless torso and the boxers that rose low on the Austrian's hips. Roderich didn't need him to complete the sentence to understand the question.

"Only if it's appropriate at the time," he said, blushing a little at the seriousness in Gilbert's tone and then trying desperately to rid his cheeks of their colour through sheer willpower alone. "That is, appropriate according to me. Your opinion on what qualifies as an appropriate time and place won't even be considered." Gilbert took this in stride, no doubt reasoning that he could easily get his own way if it came down to it.

"And if you're being a prissy aristocrat and it's pissing me off, am I allowed to say so?" he asked, and by now his voice sounded practically normal.

"I'm not encouraging it," Roderich replied hastily. "But I won't complain any more than I usually do." It seemed to be a good enough compromise for Gilbert, who was finally able to meet Roderich's eyes again.

"Cool," he said. "So it's just like normal but with added sex. I like the sound of that." He grinned as he propped his head up on his palm and draped his arm over Roderich again. His conclusion was so typical of him that Roderich might have thought that everything was sorted now, but the fact that Gilbert had made such a comment and _not_ molested him made it clear that Gilbert still needed to test out this new territory before he felt completely comfortable with it. Roderich was secretly grateful for this; he also needed to get used to the change in their relationship. So he reacted to Gilbert's words in the same way he always would.

"You have a one-track mind," he grumbled, shrugging Gilbert's arm off of him. He then sat up and slipped out of the bed.

"Where are you going?" Gilbert asked, and Roderich noticed that even though the Prussian was uneasy about this new situation, that didn't stop him from staring unabashedly and appreciatively at Roderich's body as he stood. Clearly he was still completely in his element when it came to sexual harassment.

"To have a shower," Roderich replied, not bothering to look back as he walked towards the door. He didn't have to; he knew that Gilbert would follow him before he even heard the soft smack as the other nation threw the duvet unceremoniously onto the floor (he was going to be picking that up and making the bed later – Roderich would see to it now that he was no longer bound to do the household chores), followed by the quiet creak of the bed as Gilbert got to his feet.

"I'll join you," Gilbert purred, padding silently with bare feet after Roderich, who led the way into the bathroom.

"Don't you know that it's rude to invite yourself along to places?" Roderich asked.

"Hey, you're the rude one for not inviting me to shower with you," Gilbert sniffed in a mock offended tone. "In fact, you should be _pleased_ that we're showering together." Roderich turned to raise an eyebrow at him as he stripped off his boxers and opened the shower door.

"Why? So I can bask in your glorious presence?" he asked sarcastically. Gilbert's eyes returned to his face so that he could grin in a way that Roderich knew meant that he had just said something stupid.

"That too," Gilbert replied, "But I was just thinking of all the water we'll save." He laughed as Roderich glared at him, half in embarrassment and half in exasperation. "It's nice to know that you've noticed my aura of pure awesome, though," Gilbert carried on happily. "You did a pretty good job of pretending you didn't realise I was a god in human form, but I knew you'd crack in the end."

"Just…shut up," Roderich replied, turning on the water and stepping into the shower. He attempted to close the door sharply to shut out Gilbert's ego, but unfortunately it was so big that it forced its way inside, along with Gilbert who had easily caught the door before it had slammed shut.

"Aw, don't be so bitter," he teased, winding himself around Roderich from behind and kissing him on the shoulder. The shower was only just big enough that the both of them could stand inside it comfortably, and so, realising that there was no escape (and that perhaps he didn't want to escape), Roderich resigned himself to relaxing in Gilbert's hold and enjoying the feel of the warm water cascading down his skin with a long suffering sigh.

Unfortunately, his contentment didn't last for long as, suddenly, the water started to get warmer. Roderich frowned. He turned to see Gilbert steadily turning the shower dial into uncomfortably hot temperatures.

"Stop that," he ordered, reaching out to twist the dial back. The water cooled down again and Gilbert shivered in an exaggerated manner.

"Do you want me to catch hypothermia?" he asked. "This is freezing!" He tried to pry Roderich's hand off the dial so that he could adjust the temperature again, but he was foiled by the Austrian's surprisingly strong grip.

"This is the temperature that normal people call warm," Roderich said, "And since this is _my_ shower, you'll have to –" He was cut off as Gilbert grasped his chin and turned his face to crush their lips together. By now used to random acts of molestation, Roderich merely turned to a better angle and gave in without any attempt at resistance. He only realised that Gilbert had an ulterior motive when he noticed the gradual increase in the temperature of the water. Pulling back, he glared at Gilbert, who was surreptitiously turning the dial again. Gilbert grinned.

"Look at it this way," he said. "After being out in the rain yesterday, the last thing you need is more cold water. I'm saving you from getting sick again." Roderich flicked water into his face in response, but he was glad to see that Gilbert could mention the day before without looking guilty. It seemed that he was either very good at suppressing his guilt and not showing it, or he was relaxing in the intimate environment they now found themselves in. It felt natural, Roderich reflected briefly before he made a retort, and it felt right.

"Your concern is touching," he said dryly, then crouched down to reach the bottle of shampoo that sat on the raised edge around the bottom of the shower. Straightening up again, he flipped open the cap of the bottle and poured some of the contents into his hand. Then he moved the shower head to the side so that the water cascaded down the tiled wall without touching either of them before reaching up and massaging the shampoo into Gilbert's hair. Gilbert stared at him, bemused.

"You know, I _am_ capable of washing my own hair," he pointed out. Roderich didn't look away from his task or pause in his ministrations.

"When it comes to matters of hygiene, I don't trust you to do the job properly," he replied matter-of-factly. Gilbert looked outraged.

"Hey! What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded. Roderich pulled the shower head back, cupping his hands to stop the suds from being washed into Gilbert's eyes.

"Exactly what it sounded like I meant," he replied. He smirked a little as Gilbert glared at him, and he ran his fingers through the other nation's hair to make sure it was free of shampoo.

"You can be a real jerk when you want to be," Gilbert said sulkily, reaching for a bottle of shower gel.

"I learnt from the best," Roderich said, looking pointedly at the Prussian. Gilbert's face brightened at the comment.

"Well, naturally," he said. "Since I'm the best at everything I do." Roderich rolled his eyes and held out his hand for the shower gel. Gilbert handed it to him and moved the shower head aside again so that he could apply the lather on his hands to-

Roderich looked up in surprise as Gilbert's hands, warm from the shower, slid smoothly onto his shoulders. They then rubbed soothing circles on his skin before moving down onto his chest, leaving a trail of soap suds behind them as they slipped down his torso, all the while massaging his skin gently. Roderich met Gilbert's eyes, expecting to see lust in his gaze, but was surprised to find only a trace of it, hidden behind something softer and deeper. He raised himself up onto his tiptoes and tilted his head back so that he could press his lips against Gilbert's again, moving his mouth slowly and sensually against the other's as Gilbert's hands circled his waist and started to make their way up his back. When they had once again reached Roderich's shoulders, Gilbert pushed gently so that Roderich had to break the kiss and put his heels carefully back into the shallow puddle of water at the bottom of the shower. For a moment, they looked at each other wordlessly, but then Gilbert turned abruptly away.

"You can finish this yourself," he said, and pulled the shower back so that the water streamed down Roderich's body, washing away the soap as Gilbert opened the shower door and made to leave. He stopped, however, as a hand gripped his wrist tightly.

"No," Roderich said, and the firmness in his voice was absolute. "I can't." He tugged, and Gilbert let himself be pulled back into the warmth of the water and the body that wrapped itself around him, kissing him deeply and desperately, dominating him and giving itself to him all at once.

Gilbert didn't resist as he was pushed back against the tiles. For a moment, as he had looked into Roderich's eyes, he had seen all the ways that he could hurt the other nation; the tears from yesterday, the fragile trust, and the quiet expectations that Gilbert wasn't sure he could live up to. And it had scared him. But now, as Roderich's hands slipped over his skin and his lips kissed promises against his neck, all that was somehow washed away with the water and carried down the drain, leaving him to wonder how he could have ever been so stupid as to try and throw this away.

"Don't run away from me," Roderich murmured against his ear, and the strength in the command made Gilbert feel almost ashamed to have imagined that Roderich could be hurt so easily.

"I won't," he promised, and then gasped as Roderich's hand slid down between his thighs, rewarding him for his answer and showing him what it meant: what they could be, how they could feel, and as he clutched at Roderich's shoulders, crying out as orgasm came, he realised that even if he tried to run, the only possible place that he could end up was back at Roderich's side. It wasn't even his choice anymore. It was just the only thing that could make his world feel whole.

He reached down to touch Roderich, to try and make him feel the way he made Gilbert feel. Roderich wrapped his arms around Gilbert's neck and buried his face in his shoulder, and Gilbert pulled him closer, wanting more of the loveliness that was clinging to him; more of the trembling thighs, the twitching of Roderich's hips, and the hot ragged breaths against his neck.

"Kiss me," he said, and Roderich obeyed, his lips clumsy as Gilbert sent waves of pleasure crashing against his skin. When he came, Gilbert swallowed the sweet sound that Roderich moaned into his mouth, and then Roderich broke away, gasping, his face flushed and eyes closed, droplets of water caught in his eyelashes and trickling down his face. He was beautiful. Gilbert stared at him for a moment, trying to memorise his features and then realising he didn't have to. He waited until Roderich had opened his eyes.

"I'm impressed," he said casually. "I didn't know you had it in you to be so…assertive." He grinned as Roderich tried to glare at him through the haze of pleasure that still lingered under his skin.

"You moron," he managed to say, and Gilbert laughed and kissed him as Roderich untangled his arms from around Gilbert's neck. So this was what it felt like to be with Roderich. Gilbert smiled. He would be lying if he said he didn't like it.

***

It was some time later, around mid-afternoon, when the front door burst open.

"_Bonjour_," came a cheerful shout from the intruder. "Is anyone home?"

"You can't just barge into someone's house, you idiot!" another voice rebuked as a second person also barged into Roderich's house. "Your manners are appalling."

Roderich sat up from where he had been leaning against Gilbert and paused the film that the other nation had insisted they watch. He was rather relieved, to tell the truth – there were only so many explosions and car chases that he could take, although Gilbert made a sound of irritation and reached for the remote control.

"It was just getting to the good part," he whined. Roderich moved out of his reach.

"Your friends are invading my house," he replied.

"_My_ friends, huh?" Gilbert asked, amused. "That's harsh. I know you're not exactly best buddies with Francis, but I thought you at least got on with Arthur."

"Only when the two of them aren't sharing breathing space," Roderich said darkly. "If they break anything, so help me, I'll-" At that moment, Francis flung the door open and strode into the room as if he owned it.

"Ah, here you are," he said, beaming at them.

"Can't you call ahead instead of just showing up?" Roderich snapped, folding his arms and glaring. It was clear that he still hadn't forgiven Francis for molesting him earlier in the week, although Gilbert merely waved lazily from the couch, the whole incident already behind him.

"Well, I must admit that I was hoping to walk in on a more compromising scene," Francis admitted. "Although watching a film together is very cute." He smiled innocently, and Arthur finally entered the room as well, pushing Francis out of the way.

"Stop being a pervert, you lecher," he scolded, to which Francis shrugged as if to say 'I can't help it'. Gilbert sat up a little straighter when he saw the English nation and grinned rather evilly.

"So, Arthur," he said in a tone that was far too innocent to be true, "How's _your_ week been?" Arthur's face darkened.

"Don't ask," he said. "Just…don't." Gilbert looked sadistically delighted by the response.

"So Francis got laid, huh?" he asked, and sat back to scrutinise Arthur's reaction. Once he had judged the meaning of the exact shade of crimson that his friend had turned and the amount of spluttering that Arthur made when he tried to form a denial, he added, "Several times."

"I hate you so much," Arthur muttered, and, behind him, Francis smirked in a self-satisfied way.

"I have no idea what any of you are talking about," Roderich said bluntly, "and I don't _want_ to know," he added quickly as Francis opened his mouth. "What I _do_ want to know is what you two are doing in my house." At this, Arthur suddenly brightened. He stepped forward and held out a hand palm up, as if expecting to be given something.

"I believe _somebody_ owes me ten pounds," he said. It was Roderich's turn to blush as he remembered their bet.

"How did you know?" he blurted out. Arthur didn't answer, but grinned rather smugly. It suddenly dawned on Roderich that he had perhaps just said something incredibly stupid. "You didn't know, did you?" he asked, internally kicking himself.

"Not until you just admitted it," Arthur confirmed cheerfully. "Congratulations on getting some, by the way." Roderich wasn't sure whether this comment was directed at him or Gilbert, but he flushed an even deeper shade of red anyway. "Now pay up, please." Roderich wondered if there was any way out of this…although, on the other hand, maybe if he gave Arthur the money he owed him, the other nation would shut up and leave before he destroyed Roderich's dignity completely.

"I think I have some British currency somewhere," he said, giving in and accepting defeat. Arthur withdrew his hand and smiled.

"Thank you," he said, as if he wasn't being a complete bastard. Roderich glared at him and then grudgingly left the room to go and find some money. He supposed that it at least gave him an excuse to escape the other three for a few minutes.

When he had located a ten pound note in a drawer of foreign currency, Roderich made his way back towards the lounge as slowly as he could, relishing the few moments of freedom he had from three of the most insane people he knew. Unfortunately, he reached the room far too quickly, and entered just as Francis was asking, "But you're going to keep it, _oui_?"

"Going to keep what?" Roderich asked, handing the note over to Arthur, who thanked him and pocketed it.

"Your beautiful dress, of course," Francis replied. Roderich froze, and then tried to shuffle back towards the door as inconspicuously as possible.

"Well, this doesn't sound like a conversation that needs any input from me," he said hastily, "So I'll just-" His escape route was blocked as Francis swiftly moved into his path.

"But we would _love_ you to join us," he purred, clearly taking immense pleasure in Roderich's embarrassment. "You _are_ going to keep it, aren't you?"

"Of course not!" Roderich denied.

"What? Why not?" Gilbert demanded from the sofa. "I like that dress." If looks could kill, the look that Roderich sent him would have reduced him to a pile of ashes.

"I only wore it because I lost the drinking game and that was the condition," Roderich said icily. "And you were lucky that I even consented to go along with that." Francis waved a hand elegantly, wafting away the argument.

"Yes, yes, of course," he said impatiently, "but while I'm sure you made the place look very pretty this week, you can't just throw it away when it can be put to _such_ better use." He smiled in a way that reminded Roderich of a tiger who is about to pounce on their prey. Hurriedly, he backed away.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he lied, trying desperately to avoid the subject, but Francis wasn't about to let this go.

"Oh, I'm sure you have a very good idea," he said suggestively. "While your innocent act is very endearing, it's time to stop playing dumb. Tell big brother Francis all about it, and don't leave out any of the details."

"There aren't any details!" Roderich protested. He was about to bolt, but suddenly a pair of strong arms slid around his waist, preventing him from escaping. He jumped a little, startled. He hadn't even noticed Gilbert move.

"No details for _you_ anyway," Gilbert said in a smug tone. Francis looked highly disappointed, and, Roderich noticed through his growing mortification, so did Arthur, although he was doing a much better job of hiding it.

"Never mind," Francis sighed. "I'm sure I can imagine them for myself." The look he directed towards Roderich at this comment, combined with the layers of meaning he loaded his words with, was too much, and Roderich turned to bury his face in Gilbert's shoulder to try and block the French nation out.

"Leave me alone!" he wailed, and the other three burst into laughter. Gilbert patted him on the head consolingly.

"There, there," he said in a soothing tone that didn't sound genuine in the slightest. "Don't worry, I'm sure it'll be a very flattering mental image." Roderich hit him on the chest.

"Don't patronise me," he said, although the fact that his words came out muffled by Gilbert's t-shirt may have lessened their impact a little, he considered in between wishing that the floor would open up and swallow him, or, even better, swallow Francis.

"I think you've bullied him enough for one day," Arthur spoke up, although he sounded highly amused by the whole conversation. "Come on; let's leave them to watch their film…or whatever they were doing." Roderich added Arthur to his mental list of people he would like the floor to eat.

"In that case, I will bid you two _au revoir_," Francis said. "And Arthur and I will head back to my house to continue making the beds…or whatever we were doing."

"Hey! You can't start harassing _me_!" Arthur shot back.

"Ah, but it's so fun…" Their bickering faded until the front door closed behind their retreating forms. Roderich could still faintly hear Arthur's voice as he raised his head cautiously into the Francis-free room. Gilbert kissed him softly on the forehead.

"You can be surprisingly cute," he said, and Roderich looked up to see him grinning.

"Shut up," he replied, "and watch your goddamn film." Gilbert laughed at that, but obediently returned to the sofa, pressing play on the remote and beckoning Roderich to sit beside him, which the Austrian did, albeit rather grouchily. Gilbert ignored his mood, however, and draped his arm around Roderich's shoulders, pulling the brunet down to rest in the crook of his arm. As the film continued its mindless action sequences, Roderich relaxed and the last of the colour left his face. Suddenly, he thought of something and he tapped Gilbert's thigh to get his attention.

"Why didn't you mind when Francis was making those comments?" he asked. Gilbert frowned, trying to understand why he would have a problem with Francis acting the way he always did.

"Huh?" he finally asked, giving up.

"The last time he came over, you were really angry at him," Roderich reminded him.

"Oh," Gilbert said as it dawned on him what Roderich was asking. "Well, I'm not the type to hold a grudge. Besides, he won't touch you now." Roderich looked at him disbelievingly.

"Why not?" he asked.

"Because I'm his friend, and he does have _some_ morals," Gilbert replied. "He's not going to try and, you know, steal you away from me or anything." Roderich still looked doubtful. "Plus, he knows I'll kick his ass if he tries," Gilbert added, which was a much more sensible reason, and Roderich nodded and settled back into a comfortable silence. It lasted for several more minutes.

"You _are_ going to keep it, aren't you?" Gilbert suddenly asked. Roderich glanced up at him in surprise.

"Keep what?" he asked. Gilbert rolled his eyes.

"The dress, obviously," he said. "You're keeping it, right?" Roderich looked over towards the television. He wondered whether the film was almost over, because it was boring him almost to tears. Beside him, Gilbert waited impatiently for a response.

"Of course I'm keeping it, you idiot," Roderich said eventually. Gilbert breathed a sigh of relief.

"Cool," he said. "Just checking."

Upstairs, the muted sound of the film rose up through the floor, muffled and unintelligible. The sunlight slanted through windows, bright and strong, illuminating every mote of dust that floated through the air and causing every polished surface to shine and glitter under its rays. In one of the bedrooms, the light drifted through an open wardrobe door to pick out each neatly hung shirt and jacket. The buttons glinted, and the pairs of shoes at the bottom shone dully. The lace on the only dress in the wardrobe hung prettily in the middle of the rack, and then floated lazily on a small breeze as, downstairs, the ending credits started to roll.

**A/N - Finally, it's over! I want to thank everyone who's watched, favourited and read my story - and I want to especially thank the people who've reviewed. You guys are the ones who've kept me writing this when sometimes I just wanted to give up, because although I loved writing this fic, I've never attempted anything this long before (111 pages on Word) and I've never attempted anything of this genre either. I don't think the quality has been completely consistent, and I apologise for that, but I'm definitely going to keep on trying to improve! I've started planning the spinoff and I'll probably start posting it in February after all my exams are over, so if you want to read that, I'd advise you to put me on your author alert list. Of course, I'll be writing more stuff before then - I have a lot of stuff that didn't make it into 'The Fall of Prussia' that I want to write, plus a bunch of oneshots, so I hope you guys will continue to read my work and enjoy them :) Thank you so much for reading! Now please would you leave me one last review to let me know what you thought of my fic - it would mean the world to me.**


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